


Other Suns

by extree



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:54:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 82,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extree/pseuds/extree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his quest to find his son, Gold meets someone who spends her nights staring at starry skies, searching for something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving Notes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Hope you're not tired of me yet. Here's another AU.
> 
> I'm going to try and keep chapters shorter this time around. (I've said that before, I know.)
> 
> Thank you for thinking of my stories in this year's TEAs. It meant a lot. <3

Frozen grass crunched under Gold’s feet as he stepped further into the fallowed field that lay stretched out in front of him. It seemed endless in the February darkness. The tip of his cane sank into the grass and just a little bit down into the soil. The ground hadn’t quite frozen completely. He’d worn the wrong shoes. It didn’t matter. That wouldn’t stop him.

The moon hid behind a smattering of lonely clouds. In the middle of the field shone brighter lights. Cold white camping lights and the occasional glimpse of a cellphone screen showed him the way and guided him closer, closer until he saw that it was but a meagre showing. Disappointment rose like bile in his chest, so forceful a feeling that he stopped walking altogether and stared for a while.

Three people had gathered around a faintly glowing fire basket that night. Only three - and his chances had been slim to begin with. When the wind revealed the crescent moon behind the clouds, Gold swallowed down his pessimism as best he could and took another step forward. A step that betrayed him to the smallest one, who perked up at the sound.

“Hi!” she cried out, alerting the others to his presence. Two men, slumped in camping chairs, looked over their shoulders with mild interest and then turned their eyes back to the sky.

The little one came out to meet him now, taking quick small steps that made the yarn pompom on her bobble cap bounce. When she neared with a camping lantern in her hand, Gold could begin to make out her face in the pale, bluish light. She was smiling, red-cheeked, and her eyes were very blue. Her dark hair flowed out from under her knit cap and fell over her shoulders. She was bundled up in a warm coat and wore fingerless gloves that seemed to him very ineffective.

“You're new! You didn’t RSVP on Facebook, right?”

With an Australian accent that hit him like a freight train, she spoke to him as if he wasn’t lightyears out of place, out there in that field with her and her companions. It was time to disappoint.

“I’m just looking for someone,” he declared firmly, and he watched her hopeful grin wane.

“Oh! Well, unless it’s me or those two over there…” She pointed over her shoulder, at the taller figures slumped in their chairs.

“No, I’m looking for my son. Neal. He joined you here a few times.”

What was left of her smile disappeared completely and left her looking quite serious. “The name doesn’t really ring a bell. Do you have a picture?”

Gold nodded, then bit into the leather of his glove to take it off. He reached into his coat pocket for his phone and tapped the screen until he found what he was looking for.

“Here,” he said, and he showed her a picture.

There was his son with his messy dark hair and his kind smile, sitting crosslegged on the grass out in the garden, a small stack of magazines nearby. It was the most recent picture he had of his son, taken to test the camera on the new phone Neal had helped him pick out. July or August, maybe. It was a hot, sunny day. He remembered that.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him before, I think,” she said, knitting her eyebrows together as she lowered her little camping lantern. “But that was over a month ago.”

“Not recently, then? Not this week?”

She turned her eyes to him again, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry.”

Gold’s heart, recently prone to sinking and clenching, barely reacted to the let down this time. The old thing gave a faint squeeze, a quick sting, but that was all. Exhaustion had cushioned most of the blow, and he resented himself deeply enough to suffer the rest of it.

“And them?” he asked, nodding at her companions.

The girl spun around and called out to the men. They pushed themselves up from their low chairs and ambled over, looking only moderately interested.

“Can you take a look at this picture, guys? Have you seen this kid recently? His name is Neal.”

The men gave the picture on his phone a serious look, then shook their heads. “Might have shown up a couple of times with the other kids,” said the tallest one, sounding muffled from behind the large scarf wound around his neck and a good portion of his face.

“We get a lot of teenagers joining us during school breaks,” the girl explained. “Weekends too, sometimes, if it’s not too cold. They just sort of hang out and keep to themselves.”

“Sorry man,” said the other. “We’ll keep an eye out.”

Biting the already scarred inside of his cheek, Gold gave a curt nod and watched the men walk back to their chairs to stare up at the sky again. That was that, then. Dead end. His breath in a sigh lit up eerily in the light of his cellphone screen, until he locked it and slipped it back into his pocket.

Then he noticed it. Her. The girl who hadn’t moved all this time, still standing there and staring two beams of concentrated pity right at him.

“Your son is missing?” she asked in a careful little voice when their eyes met.

A fairly useless question to pose a man going around asking strangers if they had seen his son, was it not? Not as silly as it was strange that the answer was not a yes, and not a no either, but the girl with the very blue eyes didn’t know that. She didn’t have to, either.

So why did he tell her?

“He ran away, actually,” he admitted, his voice low and his eyes fixed to one of the buttons on her coat. When he glanced up, he saw no real change in her face. Just her lips rounding into an _oh_ shape. Certainly not any of the things he saw in his own face the last time he’d looked into a mirror.

“I’d like to hear from him, that’s all. I want to know he’s safe. If he shows up, or if you remember anything that might help, would you please call me? Anything at all.”

“Yes, of course!” she replied, making herself taller by standing on the tips of her toes for a second or two.

“Any time,” he added, momentarily distracted by the bouncing bobble on the top of her head when she dropped down again. “Literally any time, day or night. Four in the morning. I don’t care.”

Chances were he’d be wide awake, anyway.

He slipped a hand into his coat and took out a business card from his breast pocket. Sturdy card stock, raised lettering. Never thought he’d be needing them for anything quite like this.

The girl took the card from him, held it up between red fingertips then took out her own phone. “I’m just texting you,” she explained, catching his confused look. “You’ll have my number. If I think of something and call you, you’ll know it’s just me and not - …”

 _And not the police_ , was the unspoken end to that sentence she couldn’t bring her suddenly wide-eyed self to finish.

With a little cough to clear her throat, she gave a smile and looked back down at his card. “You’ll, uh… You’ll know it’s just me.”

Perhaps it had been compassion rather than pity, thought Gold as he watched her smile make place for a look of concentration. Misplaced, but easier to swallow, and easier to respond to.

“That’s very kind. Thank you.”

“It’s no bother at all.”

As she tapped away at her screen, Gold looked up over the formidable pompom perched atop her head to stare up at the starry night sky. The wind had blown in a few more clouds from the east, floating too high to be heavy with rain. It was peaceful out here, but not silent. Not really. He could hear the strangely uniform sound of constant traffic in the distance, a steady stream of noise, like static, but not harsh. Comforting compared to the suffocating stillness in his house.

“Only me,” said the girl when his phone buzzed and chimed in his pocket.

Gold very nearly raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t looked in the mirror in a day or three, so it was entirely possible that he looked much worse than he thought he did. But did he truly look bad enough to warrant being spoken to as if he were made of glass, and cracked all over?

“Yes, I know.”

“Oh. Alright. I just… Yeah.”

Gold felt compelled to return her embarrassed little smile, so he forced up the corners of his mouth very mechanically, then took out his phone again.

 _Hi,_ read the message. Nothing more. He knew there was a way to add her number as a contact right away, but he didn’t know how. He’d do it later, maybe write it down on paper first and get it in there that way instead.

He’d never hear the end of it if Neal caught him doing that.

“Would you maybe like some tea? We’ve got loads.”

Gold looked up at her, blinked as if torn from a dream and croaked a bemused, “Ah, no. No, thank you.”

He’d been standing there for far longer than he needed to if she felt she had to offer him tea. It was clearly time to go, but as he realized that, his head became heavy with thoughts of his empty home where his footsteps sounded like a ghost’s, and he suddenly found himself immobile.

Home. He had to go home, where it was cold now that Neal wasn’t there to crank up the heating the very second he burst through the door every afternoon.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?” peeped the girl, tilting her head to the side a bit. “You can take a cup with you, if you like. We’ve got styrofoam cups.”

“I’m sure.”

He only noticed she’d stood on her toes again when she fell back down to the balls of her feet. Then she pressed her lips together tight and gave a slow nod. “Alright.”

Gold straightened his back and flexed his fingers around the handle of his cane, shifting his weight, trying his very hardest to leave. Just a few seconds longer, and surely his feet would thaw, then. His feet would thaw, and he’d go home.

“Any luck?” he asked dryly, nodding up at the pitch black sky, dotted with tiny lights.

The girl huffed out a charming little laugh that chimed prettily in the crisp, cold air. “No, but it should be fireball season soon. That’s neat, too.”

“Fireballs?”

“Oh, just, y’know,” she began with a sigh, waving her hands as if to guide the words out, “like, brighter than average meteors.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Fireball sounds more impressive, doesn’t it?” she asked with a knowing smile.

“As did my son’s description of this place,” Gold mumbled as he let his gaze travel over… well, over what wasn’t there. People, notably.

“I bet he came on a really busy night. It does get busy sometimes.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah! It’s not always like this. Winter’s good cause the nights are so long, but it’s too cold for most, I guess.”

Gold had been nodding as the girl made her defense, but secretly came to the conclusion that he thought her rather strange, out here in the biting evening cold in her skirt and her tights, waiting for the impossible to happen. But what did he know? He’d never worn tights. She might be toasty.

Still. The girl seemed kind. He hoped she came to her senses or found what she was looking for before hypothermia set in.

“Please do call. If you remember anything at all.”

“I will,” she replied with a dutiful nod that actually almost made him feel as if there was a small chance that he hadn’t just wasted his night completely.

But then he realized he was trusting someone who had probably mistaken a simple weather balloon for an alien starship more than once in her lifetime, to help him find his son. The little flickering flame of fresh hope in his chest died down again.

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Yes, he could move again. Step by crunchy step, back to the creaky wooden gate and out on the road to find his car. With his cane tossed in the back seat, his gloves dumped on the seat next to him, Gold drove home.

And it was still as cold as he’d left it. With heavy limbs, he put away his coat and tracked mud all the way to the thermostat at the other end of the hall to unfreeze this hell of his. Then to the little table where they threw their keys and left their notes to each other. The last note Neal had written him had announced his departure. Gold had written something else entirely, just in case. But that note was untouched and unread.

_Neal,_  
_Gone to the field you told me about. I’ve got my phone with me. Please call. I love you._  
_Dad_

With a deep sigh, Gold flipped the piece of paper and began the useless task of transcribing the girl’s number on the back of it. With one hand flat against the surface of the table, he held up his tired body and kept his weight off his bad ankle. With the other, he wrote.

He began the second part of the task slumped on a chair in the kitchen, squinting at the screen and the piece of paper, tapping the digits in slowly. He’d driven around all day, eyes peeled, brow furrowed, head pounding relentlessly, deservedly. Slow was all Gold had left in him.

Or so he thought. But then, as he waited for the kettle to boil, his phone began to clatter terribly on the counter and set his heart beating like a war drum. He was spectacularly fast then, pushing himself away from the kitchen table and launching himself towards the counter, thinking, _“Neal! Neal!”_

Gold’s poor jumping heart settled like a sack of bricks when he read the name on the screen.

 _Space Girl_.

He never did ask her name.

He answered.

“Did he show up?” he blurted, the words bursting from his mouth forcefully, shoving pleasantries and convention rudely to the side on their way out.

He didn’t even realize until the girl responded, in a small voice that made his shoulders un-tense, “No, I’m so sorry. I just - … I thought of something.”

Gold clenched his eyes shut and gave a nod that he, being as tired as he was, forgot for a moment was completely lost on her. Better turn off the stove. He became aware of the burning in his ankle as his heart slowed, so he stumbled back to his chair at the kitchen table and let his body drape itself over it like a rag doll.

“Go on.”

“I know it's late,” she began. Gold glanced at the clock and saw that it was. More or less. Almost midnight. “I just wanted to tell you you’re welcome to come ask around again some other night. I wasn’t sure if I told you that.”

He couldn’t remember either. “You said weekends were busier, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she said, quieter now, as if she wasn’t sure at all. “It depends on the weather as well, you know? I was thinking, maybe I could give you a call when any teenagers show up. They might know your son, right?”

“That’s what I was hoping for,” agreed Gold, closing his eyes against the bright kitchen lights. God, he was tired.

“So should I call you if they show up? Is that something I could do for you?”

Slowly, quietly, Gold opened his eyes again. There, in his chest, sparked that small flame he quickly identified as hope. He sat up straighter in his chair and felt his eyes open wider than they had done all evening.

“I’d appreciate that very much.”

“Alright, good! Good, then I’ll do that, and I’ll just… I’ll free up the line, now.”

“Thank you. Good night.”

“You really don’t have to thank me for anything. I’m happy to help. Sleep well.”

Unlikely.

“You too.”

But when he put down his phone and took a deep breath, Gold did realize with some relief that he wasn’t tired anymore. Or maybe he was, because his back still ached when he heaved himself up from his chair and made his way into the hall again. But he wasn’t sleepy, and that meant he could drive.

In the hall, he took a blank piece of paper and wrote another note.

_Neal,_  
_Driving around, looking for you. Please call. I love you._  
_Dad_

He’d sleep in the shop.


	2. Trying Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold gets a call that sends him flying straight to the field at the edge of town at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments and kudos on the first chapter. It means the world. <3

At exactly three minutes past nine on a Friday night, Gold abruptly abandoned his dinner (two pieces of toast) and gulped down the rest of his black coffee. The girl had called to tell him a group of local teenagers had just shown up, and accomplished what his cold coffee hadn’t managed to. He felt awake. He was in his car and set to drive in under fifteen seconds.

It was a milder night, but there was still a slight chill in the air that made him pause at the creaky wooden gate to put on his gloves. The sky was clear overhead, and the dew on the grass hadn’t frozen. The field didn’t seem endless as it had done before. With the moon a little more than the thin sliver of silver it was on his last visit, Gold could see the thicket bordering the field in the distance tonight.

But nearer than that, and getting even closer, he recognized the light of the girl’s camping lantern.

“Hi!” she called out, as if it was at all possible to miss her with her white puffy coat and the pompom on her head.

A few more steps, and then she stopped right in front of him, lifted her lantern higher and let the light paint her round face a little paler. She looked eager - or anxious perhaps - and she jumped straight into it. He appreciated that.

“They’re still here,” she said, looking over her shoulder for a moment. “I didn’t ask them anything yet. I thought you’d wanna be here, so I waited. Would you like me to explain the situation to them?”

Gold was rarely speechless unless by choice, but he could only give a nod in response. It seemed that was enough for her, thankfully, and with a quick smile, she began to walk towards the gentle red glow of the fire basket. He followed.

She was right. It was busier that night. Stationed a little further away from the fire basket stood a handful of people with expensive cameras on tripods, and serious faces. Closer to the warmth of the modest little fire sat a group of teens - two boys and two girls, sixteen or seventeen years old at most - lounging on a blue tarp spread on the wet grass. They were chatting, laughing, huddled around a phone quietly playing guitar music from its tinny speakers. Unlike the older men and women a few paces away, this lot didn’t seem too concerned with the sky and what was or wasn’t up there.

Two suspicious young faces turned towards them as they made their approach. The chatter died. The remaining two faces turned towards them too, confused at first and then equally suspicious. Gold put his hand in his coat pocket, ready to take out his phone. From the corner of his eye, he saw the girl give him a nervous, unsure glance. But when she spoke, there was no hesitation.

“Hey, guys, can we ask you a couple of questions?”

“Is he a cop?” asked one of the boys, narrowing his eyes at them. Unsurprising first words from a kid with a leather jacket and a packet of Pall Malls balanced on his knee.

“What? No, we -”

“This is just gatorade!” blurted the other boy nervously as he clutched a now very suspect looking plastic bottle close to his chest.

The reaction from his friends was immediate and harsh, and it came in the form of a chorus of groans and hisses. The boy in the leather jacket doubled over completely, muttering something undoubtedly profane as he buried his hands in his blond hair. One of the girls threw her head back in defeat and shook it up at the sky, and the other one put her hand up to her forehead and whispered a deeply disappointed, “Chris…”

Space Girl, meanwhile, was starting to catch on. Gold could tell because her face was something of an open book, and her eyes were slowly getting smaller as her mind put the pieces into place. He sighed, waited for the penny to drop irrevocably and wondered how it was possible that he still had some patience left in the bones of his weary body, until finally there came an indignant gasp and a dramatically whispered:

“Are you drinking?”

Guilty stares. Silence. _Complete_ silence; the song coming from the cellphone had come to an end as well. Gold opened his mouth for a dry remark about more pressing business, but -

“I can’t believe you guys!” she cried, sounding genuinely hurt. “You know I can get in serious trouble if the cops catch you drinking on my watch!”

“Gatorade’s illegal, now?” muttered the boy in the leather jacket with a sly grin.

Space Girl thrust out her hand stiffly and made her face as stern as she could. “Give it here,” she demanded.

The blond boy let out an utterly unimpressed laugh and snatched the bottle from the shaky grasp of his meeker friend. “Hell no. I paid for this.”

Her hand remained outstretched, her palm upturned, the gesture fruitless and steadily losing what little authority it had as the seconds ticked away in tense silence. Her arm began to bend a bit, her muscles probably trembling by now. Then her strict frown grew milder, and Gold’s patience was beginning to melt away under the simmering urgency of the matter that had led him there that night.

“Come on,” she urged them, shifting her weight from one hip to other, straightening her drooping arm again for her final appeal. “Please? Like you’re even going to get drunk off this if you split it between the four of you.”

Gold raised his brow, skeptical at this new approach. Her argument hinged rather heavily on what was actually in the bottle, for one, and the tremble in her voice, though subtle, spoke of a certain desperation.

And yet it worked. Breaking the tension, the boy handed over the bottle with a sigh and a genuine grin that, paired with the monumental eye-roll the two girls shared in that moment, was a fairly big hint as to the reason behind his sudden change of heart.

“ _Thank_ you,” she said, fighting a proud little smile as she was handed her trophy. “Now can we ask you some questions? You’re not in trouble or anything.”

One of the girls shrugged. “I guess.”

Gold opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the eager Australian piped up again and asked, “Are you friends with someone named Neal?”

The resulting silence was deafening, and meaningful. They knew him, thought Gold, straightening his back and tightening his grip on his cane. They wouldn’t have been so quiet if they didn’t. The girls were shooting each other looks again, the nervous boy pressed his lips firmly shut, and the blond boy in the leather jacket quirked a single pierced eyebrow.

“Who wants to know?” he asked.

Gold knitted his eyebrows together. “His father.”

“Well shit,” laughed the boy. “You look a lot less dead than he said you were. Guess he meant it like, metaphorically or whatever.”

Either the temperature had just dropped by ten degrees, or those words had somehow made the blood drain from his face, but every inch of his exposed skin felt frozen now.

“Did he…”

Gold paused, swallowed the tightness in his throat, shook his head to try and clear whatever it was that was blocking the words. The kid might as well have punched him in the stomach; it would have been roughly as painful and left him just as speechless. Even the knowledge that he deserved no less did not cushion the blow this time. He bit his cheek. Felt Space Girl’s blue eyes glued to the side of his face. He mustn’t look. Pity was the last thing he needed.

“Did he what?” prodded the boy, the smug smirk on his face replaced with an expression of cautious interest.

_Did he really say that?_

“Do you know where he is?”

“No clue.”

He answered that too quickly, too calmly for that to have been the first he’d heard of Neal’s departure. The boy wasn’t surprised in the least.

“But you know he left.”

His tight-lipped silence further confirmed Gold’s theory. The leather of his gloves creaked as he squeezed the handle of his cane tighter.

“Did he tell you where he was going?”

“No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No.”

“He’s not lying, sir. I was there.”

Gold turned his piercing stare away from the blond boy and looked at the source of that quiet little statement. The anxious one, the terrible liar, was more difficult to understand with his weak voice out here in the open, but he was much easier to read. He believed him.

“You. Tell me what you know.”

He shrugged and began to rub his thighs nervously. “Not much. We ran into him last week. He said he was on his way to check out a cheap car he found on Craigslist and that he was leaving for a while.”

“A… A car?”

The boy furrowed his brow. “Yeah. A car.”

“He bought a car?”

“Yeah. He bought a car.”

He could barely hear the blond one’s amused chuckle, and he cared even less. A car. He’d gone and bought a car. The word nestled itself in his brain and in the back of his throat.

“Well, he said he did,” added the boy with a shrug. “We didn’t see it.”

“Did he tell you who he bought it from?”

“No. Sorry.”

His throat was tight again. There was pressure just behind his forehead, too. God, the breeze, pleasant at first, was freezing now. He licked his dry lips and heard his own voice quietly croak, “Heating? Does it…”

The boy looked completely confused as he waited patiently for the end to that sentence. Gold swallowed one more time, decided he wouldn’t finish it. He just wanted to know if the heating worked, that was all. But the boy wouldn’t know. He didn’t know.

“He must have told you something about where he was going. If he was coming back. Please, if you know anything at all about -”

“Look, man,” sighed the blond one. “He just said he bought a car and that he was getting out of here. That’s all. It didn’t feel like a dramatic goodbye forever kinda thing, if that helps.”

On a level his brain wasn’t managing to reach in that moment, Gold knew it should have helped. But there was a noise in his head that thundered over everything, a cacophony of words stirring up a whirlwind in the pit of his stomach with a dreadful hollowness right in the eye of the storm.

He was long gone.

A gentle sound reached him somehow. “Mr Gold?”

He didn’t hate the way she looked at him as much as he thought he would. The noise began to let up, just a little bit, just enough to make the pressure in his skull abate.

But then there was a hand on his shoulder, suddenly and heavily, making his heart jump. Gold started and spun around, hurting his ankle in the process. He clenched his eyes shut in pain and when he opened them again, there was a man with a crazed look on his weathered face standing entirely too close.

“I got taken too, but I came back,” the man whispered urgently.

“Fred, come on, leave him alone,” pleaded the girl.

Gold scowled and tried to jerk loose from the bearded man’s iron grip, but he only grasped his shoulder tighter in response.

“Listen, there’s no need to worry about your son! They just wanna learn about us!”

The last thing he heard before there was nothing left but the sound of blood rushing to his face was the girl’s voice, trying, pleading. But rage and contempt welled up forcefully, and it spilled over. It all did. He let it.

They were movements he hadn’t had to make in nearly twenty years, but muscle memory still took over. Before he knew it, Gold had grabbed his cane in the middle and brandished the handle close to the man’s face. With the other, he shoved the offending appendage off his shoulder, sending his arm flying.

The man stumbled back, muttering apologies, holding up his hands in surrender.

His vision constricted to two needle points, Gold didn’t even notice the girl had stepped between them until she demanded his attention with a firm, “Hey!”

He blinked. Looked at her. _Saw_ her. She’d made herself taller, and she held his eyes captive with a fearless stare. When she knew she had his attention, her face softened, and she told him, “I know this is painful, and he shouldn’t have touched you, but please.”

She looked at his fist when she said that last word. He followed her gaze and saw his knuckles were white. So he relaxed his hands. His shoulders. Put the tip of the cane back down onto the ground and let his breathing begin to slow. There was comfort in the knowledge that he hadn’t frightened her in the least, but he felt shame, too, and it settled in the spot left vacant by his rage.

“I know,” she repeated softly.

Gold knew that she couldn’t possibly know, but he didn’t voice that. His mind went right back to Neal, and it spun and spun like a tire stuck in muddy snow. Dead to him. Miles away. And while he couldn’t stop his thoughts from racing, his body was still tired. Pliable. Weak.

That was why he followed the girl and the light of her little lantern when she beckoned and led him away from the stares and the whispers, why he stayed when she told him to wait at the camping table set up a few paces away from the fire, why he nodded when she offered him tea this time. It was only when she pressed a steaming styrofoam cup into his hand that his frantic brain began to slow down, his jumbled panicky thoughts separating themselves from each other like oil from water.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her eyes flitting over his face as if she were looking for the answer there.

It surprised him, that question. He’d expected to be asked if he was alright, if he was pleased with what he’d learned. He would have answered those questions - or tried to - because the girl had tried to help him, and rudeness would only indebt him to her deeper. He was relieved he didn’t have to.

“Part of me was hoping he was staying with a friend. If he bought a car…”

 _Long gone_ , thought Gold to himself as he stared down into the dark liquid in his cup. There was very little chance of catching up with him, now. But he’d rather that than have him hitchhiking. At least he could stop imagining his boy standing in the freezing cold waiting for a bus. At least he knew he had some form of shelter if he needed it.

“I’m glad he thought it through.”

The girl gave a nod and a smile that was both sad and kind. “If you need us to talk to the police, I’m sure I can convince them to,” she said, nodding towards the little group of teens, laughing and chatting again as if nothing had happened.

“That won’t be necessary,” mumbled Gold. The warmth from the tea was slowly beginning to seep through the thick leather of his glove. “He’s eighteen. He’s an adult. As far as the police are concerned, Neal didn’t run away. He just left.”

Glancing at her frowning face over the rim of his small styrofoam cup, Gold took a careful sip of his tea. Sugary, but he didn’t mind.

“Wait,” she said, shaking her head in confusion, wrinkling her nose. “They’re not investigating at all?”

“No. No crime occurred. He’s no danger to himself. They said they’d keep an eye out, but…”

But when the officer left, he left him feeling empty and powerless. He hadn’t felt much of anything else since.

“But they’d tell you if they did find him, right? They have to know you’re worried sick!”

“I hope so. But they’re not obligated, in any case.”

With her eyebrows close together, the girl gave a slow understanding nod and looked down at the grass for a moment.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to do with you.”

“No, I’m sorry for what Fred did. What he said.”

“Fred?”

“The guy who grabbed you, earlier.”

Oh. He remembered her calling out that name, but the memory was faint and the sound was distant.

Nothing to do with her, either.

“Interesting character,” Gold remarked dryly.

The girl huffed a little laugh and nodded, making the bobble on her cap bounce again. “I know. He shows up a couple of times a year. He travels around the country a lot. I think he just wants to be around people who believe him.”

“Do you?”

The girl’s lips were parted, but nothing came out. She sighed and looked at the strange man out of the corner of her eye for a moment. Gold waited for it, but she didn’t answer. She deflected. And rather clumsily so.

“Do you have more business cards?” she chirped suddenly, putting on a grin for a cover. “I’ll give them to the kids.”

He raised an eyebrow, but decided it would be rude to press her for an answer when what she had given him instead was a useful suggestion. Another kindness. So he reached into his coat and took out a small stack of his business cards.

“Thank you,” he said.

“That’s alright. I just… I hope you and your family hear from him soon.”

“It’s just me, but yes. That would be nice.”

Immediately after he spoke those words and he saw the girl’s eyes grow suddenly wider, Gold bit his tongue. Why did he say that? The smile on her face was gone, replaced with a look of confusion at first, and then compassion. Far more of it than he deserved. Far too much for him to handle, so he looked away. At the moon reflected in his tea.

“I should get going.”

“You can stay if you want,” she answered softly.

“No, I should go.”

She stared at him. He could feel it. When he looked up from his tea, she had her lip in between her teeth and her brow was lightly creased in thought.

“Alright. But you can come out here any time you like. Chances are I’m here if it’s not overcast. I know it’s not your scene, but we get all kinds of people here. Most of them just like to stargaze, and we get amateur astronomers, too! Like, proper, y’know, scientists.”

Her sales pitch was vaguely endearing, but he knew where it was coming from, so responded only with soft thanks and a smile as genuine as he could make it.

As he put his half empty cup of tea on the little camping table, the girl gave the business cards in her hand another look. She smiled at them, and then at him.

“You know, I walked past your shop a few times. It looks… I don’t know. Intriguing, I guess?” She paused for a faintly embarrassed shrug. “I always wondered what it looks like on the inside.”

“Dusty,” he replied, and when she laughed, he smiled.

They said their goodbyes, and he left her standing by the little camping table. His ankle stung sharply with every other step on that cold wet grass, so he paused at the gate after he closed it behind him. Just for a moment. Just to breathe. And he looked back.

There was the weak glow of the fire basket. And there, to the left of it, shone the white light of a little camping lantern. It was just a small spot of white in the distance, but it was big enough and bright enough to trigger a thought:

He wished he’d asked her name.

…

In his cold house, Neal’s shoes weren’t blocking the staircase. His bag wasn’t dumped somewhere behind the door. His coat wasn’t hanging over the banister. There was no note for him - just the one he’d left for Neal before he left the house that evening, and it was untouched, like all of the others. Another for the bin.

_Neal,_

_Out at the field again, looking for you. Hope I find you before I find any aliens._  
_Please call. I love you._

_Dad_


	3. See-through

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold gets a curious visitor in the shop. Exhaustion starts to take its toll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3

Of course determination played a part in it, but the trick to quitting a habit, Gold knew, was simple substitution. When he gave up smoking all those years ago, he went through roughly an entire tin of mints each day instead. It was ridiculous, but it worked.

His new nocturnal habit had sunk its teeth deep into his skull. Nights were dead silent. Nights were when inaction and powerlessness felt heaviest. Driving was _something_ , so that was what he did. But it was no use pretending that was productive anymore, and it was time to stop.

Fortunately, there was an obvious alternative to driving around all night. Sleep, namely. But it wasn’t that simple.

Since Neal had left, Gold only slept when his brain and body conspired to force him to. There were only little pockets of merciful oblivion spent upright in an arm chair in the living room when the sun rose, on a chair at the kitchen table in the early evening, or half an hour on the cot in the back room of his shop instead of lunch.

But he had to tough it out now so he could crash at a reasonable hour and reclaim the night for sleep, later. Rip that habit straight out of his skull so that he could think straight, at least.

To do that, he had to perform a very tedious balancing act now.

If he gave in to exhaustion and took a nap on the cot he kept in the back room, he would be wide awake tonight. If he kept propping himself up with caffeine past a certain mystery point during the day, the stuff might still be in his system come nightfall. He’d put too much sugar in his coffee, anyway. He went off it after the third sip. Now that it was cold, too, it was easy to resist.

Well. Easier.

He hadn’t seen a customer all morning. He’d just been standing there where he was still stood now, elbows on the counter, head hanging heavy, waiting. Time was passing mercilessly slow and there were more parts of his body that ached than there were parts that felt even half alright, but physical pain was nothing he couldn’t handle.

It was just that he was so very drowsy. The light pouring in from the dusty windows gave everything that reflected it a hazy golden glow. Just for a moment, just for a few seconds, Gold closed his aching eyes against the dreamlike play of light in front of him.

Not asleep.

Just drowsy.

But when his bell rung very timidly as if nothing bigger than a cat had snuck in, he dismissed the sound as something from a dream.

The oddly familiar voice that uttered a soft, “Hello,” however, sounded real.

Gold opened his eyes, lifted his tired head and saw the girl from the field there by the door. The girl who searched the night skies for something she’d never see was watching him with curious eyes, and held the door to keep it from falling shut again. At the very real sight of her, the muscles of his arms jumped, and he pushed himself up from the counter.

“Good morning,” he said, trying to blink the burning in his eyes away.

At this sign of life, the girl finally closed the door behind her, making the little bell ring again. She gave a kind smile.

“Well, it’s one in the afternoon. But I hope you had a good morning, too.”

“Ah?”

Gold glanced at the grandfather clock next to the entrance to the back room, and saw that she was right. Embarrassing, but good news. Unless that meant he’d actually been sleeping until now.

“So it is,” he replied, electing not to comment on the quality of his morning.

Taking off her fingerless gloves and pushing them deep into her coat pockets, the girl took a few small steps into the room. “I, uh, I thought I’d stop by and check out the shop. Is that alright?”

Was she not here to pity him, with all the best intentions in the world? When he raised his brow, he discovered he’d gotten a headache at some point during the morning, but what was one more ailment to add to his collection of many?

“Of course.”

“Great!”

She gave a bright smile and began to wander around the room, making the old wooden floorboards creak under her shoes. She wasn’t wearing any sort of hat, so there was no bouncing pompom to be distracted by. She looked taller in heels than she did in the boots she wore out in the field, but not by that much. There were other, more marked differences to her in the light of day.

Like the rosy blush on her cheeks, and how much lighter a color her hair seemed when she walked into a patch of sunlight and it glowed like a golden lining to a cloud. He remembered her more like the moon, with the white light of her lantern making her face look very pale against the pitch black backdrop of night.

Suddenly puzzled by the turn his thoughts had taken, Gold bit his tongue until it hurt and looked away from her. It didn’t matter. He had no use, no time, no energy for idle floating thoughts when he hadn’t yet thought of a way to reach out to his son.

“You’ve collected so many beautiful things,” she remarked softly.

Gold looked up. The girl had stopped in front of a rectangular glass display where he kept the pieces of jewelry he was unlikely to part with. There was a look of wonder on her face, her blue eyes flitting over the gold and the silver and the precious stones glinting in the light.

He didn't know what to say to that. Should he thank her? He could tell from her quick glance that he was taking too long to think of something else, so it would have to do.

But if he had to embarrass himself again, he could at least settle something that had been rankling in his bruised brain for a while now, while he was at it.

“Thank you, Ms…”

He let his voice trail off and waited for her to snap up the bait. It was a very old trick, but those were usually the most effective in his experience, he thought to himself as her eyes got wider in subdued surprise. Looked as if she hadn’t realized.

“My name’s Belle,” she said, walking slowly up to the counter with her hands clasped loosely behind her back.

It was a good name.

When she reached the counter, she put her fingers on the very edge. “French,” she added.

He nodded. “I know,” he replied, without thought.

A sudden change came over her face, then. Her smile faltered, her eyes grew smaller, and her head tilted slowly, minutely to the side. “You do?”

Gold blinked. His eyes still burned. “Well, yes. My French may be remedial at best, but I do remember that much.”

The confusion cleared from her face like a cloud moving past the sun, and there was laughter in her voice when she told him, “Oh, no, I meant… That’s my surname. Belle French.”

Oh dear God, his brain was in such a tragic state. He clenched his eyes shut and let his head dip in defeat, and when she dared an amused little laugh, it made him laugh as well. It was unexpected, and it felt nice until the sting behind his eyes spiked, and turned his laughter into a choked hiss of pain. He grabbed hold of the edge of the counter, so tight his knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he sighed, opening his eyes to find her leaning closer over the counter with concern written all over her face. “I’m a bit frazzled, that’s all. Haven’t been getting much sleep these days. I’m afraid I don’t make for very good company just now.”

She shook her head a bit and smiled. “Maybe you’re just not in the mood. For company, I mean.”

As he looked at her face - and it was a pretty face; there was no point in pretending he hadn’t noticed that - he realized that that was not true. The girl hadn’t made him feel quite as pitiful as he’d feared she would, and she was distracting enough, even without that pompom wobbling about on her head. She’d already made his day pass quicker, in a sense, when she simply told him the time.

But distraction was something he didn’t believe he deserved at the moment.

“Perhaps I’m not,” he said, illustrating his lie with a little smile.

Her eyes fluttered to his lips, as if to determine the authenticity of his smile. But if she spotted a tell, then she didn’t think to remark upon it.

“I thought so,” she said, her voice a soft sigh. “I understand. I’ll let you get some rest, but…”

She swung her leather shoulder bag to her front and - _click, click_ \- opened the silvery clips that kept it closed. She began to dig deep into her bag, and Gold watched with guarded interest as her search progressed. There was a polkadot handkerchief in there, a bottle of water, a beaten up paperback - no, _two_ beaten up paperbacks - and a handful of pens at least.

“Ah!”

She’d found it, evidently. Whatever it was. He couldn’t tell, because she was holding it in her fist and moving it around, gesticulating while she spoke.

“I accidentally bought too many of these, and they always make me feel a little better, and — … Not that I think it fixes anything. Not at all. I know it’s silly, but…”

She paused and pulled her red lip in between her teeth, her blue eyes dropping down to the object in her hand.

Gold wondered whether he was meant to say something now. He was missing social cues left and right and embarrassing himself all over the place, so it wasn’t exactly beyond the realm of possibility.

But she spoke before the pressure to crack the silence even made him open his mouth.

“I know it won’t help, but little things are important too,” she said with a decisive nod, speaking slower, steadier than she did before. “So here you go.”

And then she put something with a shiny wrapper on his counter and pushed it gently towards him with the tips of her fingers. He could see what it was now: a massive candy bar. Chocolate, it seemed, with caramel.

Gold blinked at it in disbelief. The metallic red and gold wrapper caught the sunlight that was bounced off a full length mirror somewhere near the window.

“I… Thank you,” he said, trying not to look as confused as he felt.

“I hope you get some rest, Mr Gold,” she said, and when she walked away, something that had been slowly growing in the pit of his stomach stretched out and followed her, leaving him hollower than he’d felt all day.

He bit the insides of his cheeks and held his breath. Just a few more seconds. Just a minute. Could he really not allow himself that?

“Ms French,” he called out, lifting his hand from the counter pointlessly just as she reached the door.

The girl stopped, her hand hovering in the air, just shy of the doorknob. She raised her brow.

“Yes?”

Gold put on a half smile - all he could manage - and leaned forward on the counter with his hands clasped together.

“How does one accidentally buy too much chocolate?”

It only took a second for her face to bloom into a beaming grin. The sight pulled at the corners of his own mouth.

“Well,” she began, slowly making her way back to the counter. “There’s probably more than one way, but… in my case, I was just thinking about someone who’s going through a tough time, wondering how I could help without coming across as patronizing. Cause the person I was thinking about, he seems sort of sensitive about that.”

Speechless, Gold studied her smiling face and wondered if he’d really been so obvious, whether he’d visibly cringed each time she offered him help or words of kindness. It seemed likely. Certainly now that he noticed how she was studying him in return, her eyes moving all over his face to read all she could find there.

Finally, she continued, “So my hand slipped in the candy aisle,” with a shrug and a smile.

How curious. How sweet of her. How tiring it must be to _be_ her, caring for people who might not even deserve it.

“Thank you. For letting your hand slip.”

“You can give it back or throw it away if you don’t like it!” she blurted quite suddenly. “I know it’s stupid -”

“No, no,” he protested, because while he didn’t want to encourage her, he also knew his heart wasn’t up to the cold task of giving her her gift back. “Just what I needed.”

He pulled the candy bar closer to his side of the counter - slowly, demonstratively, watching her face as she began to smile again.

“And I… I meant what I said, about visiting whenever you want. If you need company.”

Want, need, deserve. All very different things, he thought as he felt his face fall into a familiar frown. He nodded to signal he’d received her open invitation, but he didn’t speak.

It was no wonder she’d noticed his need to shrink away from kindness. Perhaps he’d been too exhausted to mask it all, but it didn’t even matter. It was such a waste of time now, pretending. Such an incredible waste of time and energy now that the center of his universe had decided to leave for who-knows-where, leaving him drifting through dead space.

He’d been rubbed thin. He was see-through. If he wasn’t so bloody tired, he knew he might have been nervous to realize all of his armor had gone.

“No news?” she asked, her head tilted to the side a bit, like an inquisitive kitten. It was more of a statement than a question. 

“No. No news.”

The grandfather clocked ticked the seconds away. The sound was almost deafening in the silence until the girl broke it again, looking at her fingers on the counter, then glancing up at him with those arresting eyes.

“It’s really none of my business, but… You had an argument, right?”

The hurt and guilt surged right up from the darkest pit of his stomach, hitting the back of his throat. He swallowed it back down, became aware of the thudding in his skull again.

“Yes,” he muttered, hating his dry voice. “My fault.”

She stared at him, so he looked down. There was that candy bar. A massive lump of chocolate and sugar dressed in gold and red.

“You still need to take care of yourself.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s good.”

No, she didn’t make him feel pitied, even when he looked back up and saw her watching him like someone might look at a poorly child curled up in bed. He wasn’t sure why he kept expecting her to, anymore. He hoped it wasn’t true, what she’d said out in the field. That she knew. That she understood. He wouldn’t wish that on her.

“I should go now,” said the girl, slipping the clasps of her leather bag back into place again. “I’m on my lunch break.”

“Right. Of course. What is it you do?”

“Depends on what day of the week it is,” she replied with a little smile. “I’m taking care of the flower shop today. It’s my dad’s, actually. I do a little work at the library, too.”

_Huh._

“What?” she asked in a deeper, suspicious voice as she put her gloves back on. “You’re looking at me like I just said something weird.”

“No, not at all. The opposite, in fact. That’s all very normal. I’m not sure what I expected, but -”

“Did you expect me to work for the FBI?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, her eyes glinting with amusement. “X-Files?”

Gold pressed his lips together tight, subduing a smile that broke out anyway. His failure to keep a straight face made her giggle.

“Enjoy your break, Ms French,” he told her.

“You too, Mr Gold. I think you’ll get good news soon. People don’t stay upset forever.”

When she said it like that, it didn’t even seem that ludicrous an idea.

Gold stared at the back of her as she walked out of his shop, until he couldn’t see her through the window in the door anymore. Then he sighed. He knew it was useless, but still he checked his phone for any messages. There were none. He hadn’t missed anything.

He took his cane out from under the counter, picked up his half empty mug of cold sugary coffee and went into the back room to pour it out into the sink.

Tea instead, maybe, Gold considered as he watched the black liquid disappear down the gurgling drain. One cup of hot tea and a massive sugar boost - courtesy of Belle, the very normal girl who definitely did not work for the FBI - to tide him over until he could crawl into his bed, between his cool sheets, and sleep until there was good news.


	4. Habits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night phone call and cold night in the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. <3

Gold’s skin was still warm from his hot bath when he slipped under the cool sheets of his bed. He’d taken something for the headache, and all that was left of it was a trace heaviness that weighed his head down into his pillow and made it easier to close his eyes.

His bedroom was silent. There was a glass of water on the nightstand. He hadn’t closed the curtains completely, but the night was dark with a thick blanket of clouds beyond the windows. There was no need.

As the room cooled off and the sheets warmed around his body, he dipped in and out of sleep for a while. There was comfort in the act of lingering in that slow back and forth, in the twilight strip between consciousness and nothingness.

But it was a thin line easily crossed. Suddenly and all at once, he fell into a deep sleep.

Only to be ripped out of it by an alarm wailing and screeching, and something in the room collapsing, and — No, it was his cellphone, ringing shrilly and rattling against his untouched glass of water on the nightstand.

Gold’s body reacted before his brain was fully out of slumber. He sat up, scrambled for his phone in the darkness and pressed it close to his ear. He muttered something, but he didn’t understand or recognize the gentle male voice responding on the other end until it spoke the words, “It’s just me, Mr Gold,” in an Irish accent that was familiar to him.

There were only milliseconds between blind panic and deep dread.

“Is Neal -”

“He’s absolutely fine. Did I wake you?”

Wide-eyed and breathing fast, Gold swung his legs out of the bed and planted his feet on the floor.

_Neal._

“Mr Gold?”

“Have you found him?” he asked. His tongue was thick in his mouth, his mouth was dry. “Where is he? Let me speak to him, please.”

“He’s not with me, Mr Gold, but I can tell you he’s alright.”

His eyes blew open wide. “Where the bloody hell is he, then?” he barked.

Along with the impatience and the fear surged a spike of pain in his skull. The painkiller had worn off. He swallowed and murmured a quiet apology to the kind sheriff, but his outburst hadn’t fazed him.

“I don’t know where your son is now, but I know he was in Kittery two days ago. Where he got a speeding ticket, I’m afraid.”

“Kittery?” Gold repeated, drawing a blank.

“Practically New Hampshire. I’ve been making some calls, asking a few people to be on the lookout for your son, unofficially. It was all I could do.”

As his heart slowed, Gold began to understand. Neal was crossing state lines. He was flying as far away as his apparently speedy little car could take him.

“Two days ago? You’re sure?”

“Positive. They only got around to letting me know just now.”

“Did they know before they pulled him over? Did they tell him I’m looking for him? Does he know?”

“I don’t think your son would have ditched his iPhone for a prepaid phone if he didn’t think you’d be looking, Mr Gold, but yes. They did. They told me they suggested he give you a call. He said he’d consider. I thought he might have contacted you, but I wasn’t sure, so I… I thought I’d better let you know.”

Gold rubbed his hand over his tired face. Two days to consider. Was he still considering? Or - and his heart dropped - had he decided? 

“He didn’t,” he croaked in his dry voice, glancing at the glass of water he’d left on the nightstand. “Did he tell them where he was going?”

“No. I’m sorry. I wish there was more I could do.”

With a grunt, Gold pushed himself up from the bed. “I know.”

He wasn’t really listening anymore; he was just staring at his wardrobe with bleary eyes. He could get dressed. Get in the car. Take out a map. Drive to a town his son had sped through in his hurry to get away from him.

But then what?

“Mr Gold, I’ve done my fair share of running,” said the sheriff, sounding very tired all of the sudden. “Can I give you some advice?” 

“Sure,” sighed Gold as he opened the creaky wardrobe door. “I don’t see why not.”

“Give him time. Don’t chase the boy.”

The words made him falter just as he reached for a shirt. He curled his outstretched fingers inward again, let his arm drop down limply by his side.

“What else is there for me to do?” he asked, closing his eyes, hating how weak and dry his voice sounded.

“Just wait for him to think things over. Give him space.”

He’d tried everything else. He’d made himself hoarse making calls all over. Neal’s school, his friends, his colleagues from every little job he’d ever worked. He’d even tried to track down his ex-wife (last known whereabouts: bloody Jersey — not _New_ Jersey; Jersey, Bailiwick of) but she was never one to leave a trace, and that was a dead end, too. He’d driven in circles for hours and had indeed accomplished nothing.

But to just _wait?_

There was a knot in his throat now. He tried to swallow it away and then mumbled, “Tell me you didn’t run all the way from Belfast.”

“I’m afraid I did,” he laughed softly. “But I’ve been back since. He’ll be back, too. Be there for him when he does.”

Shaking his head, Gold closed the wardrobe door again and looked over at the bright red numbers on his alarm clock. Ten to eleven, on the dot. He’d slept for almost two hours. He knew he could drive for many more.

“Alright, lad. Thank you for letting me know. Have a good night.”

“You too, Mr Gold.”

When the line went dead, Gold tossed his phone onto the bed where it bounced just once. Then he walked over to the window and discovered that it was raining just a little bit, very softly and gently. He could barely hear the drops tapping against the window. Looking down, he could see his car, wet and glinting in orange streetlights. Waiting for him.

But he hadn’t forgotten what the sheriff had told him. Time, he’d said. And space. There certainly wasn’t very much of that around here, and he hadn’t encouraged his son to seek it.

_Stay here while you make up your mind, son,_ he had told him many times. _Stay here and save up for a while. There’s always time to leave._

He tore his eyes up and away from his car and turned them to the sky instead. Black, heavy and gloomy. It would rain all night, he was sure. As he stood there, getting goosebumps on his bare arms, he imagined how empty and dark the field at the edge of town must be that night. For a brief moment, before he closed the curtains, he wondered if the girl was up too, waiting for the sky to clear up.

Once the thick curtains blocked what little light there was outside, his stomach churned, flipped, lurched - did everything it could to make him feel as terrible as it could. He let his body drop to the bed, making the boards under the mattress creak dangerously. He sat there on the edge of the bed and tried to understand what his twisting insides were screaming for him to do.

He only knew where Neal was two days ago. Waiting was torture, but if he gave chase, the whole endeavor might feel productive until he got to Kittery. And what then? Where to? What if by some miracle he found him, angered him and pushed him even further away? And what if Neal had turned back at some point? What if his son came home to a cold house and a stupid bloody note?

He lay down. His eyes stung as he threw the sheets over his cooling body, and then they were wet. He didn’t understand why until he recognized the chill running down his spine as relief washing over the vestiges of dread that had seized him when he answered the phone.

He breathed in deep, but shakily.

His son was _fine_.

And then he closed his eyes and breathed out.

He would chase sleep instead.

…

The very next day, Gold - fairly rested - made soup. Cream of tomato. Too much of it. Enough to feed a small family of four by the looks of it. He turned off the stove and cursed himself as he stared down into the steaming pot. He wasn’t even that hungry. Actually, no one person could ever be _that_ hungry.

He had always known the ritual of cooking to be distracting and purposeful, which was why he’d decided to give it a try that evening. So used to cooking for a teenage boy with a voracious appetite and a love of leftovers, Gold didn’t notice he was making far too much soup until he was practically swimming in it.

Now what?

He’d had some for dinner, but that was just about all he could manage. It wouldn’t all fit into his freezer either, and of course the pot he’d used was too big to fit in the refrigerator. He could try to find all of his tupperware containers and spend the rest of his evening pouring soup into little boxes to stack them in the fridge.

But…

With a deep exhale, he leaned back against the kitchen counter and glanced out of the window to his left. Clear skies tonight. That meant it would be cold out, Gold knew. Colder than the night before.

Suddenly, an idea. He spun around and briskly opened the cupboard above the sink to find an old blue thermos flask - rarely used but perfectly functional. Having spotted it, he reached for it slowly, as if he wasn’t quite sure. But when the tips of his fingers touched the plastic, his mind was made up.

…

_Neal,_

_Made too much soup, gone to the field to find takers. Please call me._   
_I love you,_

_Dad_   
_P.s. There’s soup._

…

He didn’t need to hear the grass crunch under his feet to know it was a bitter cold night, but it certainly drove the point home. His cane didn’t sink into the soil but tapped it, his breath was white as snow, and the fire basket in the middle of the field glowed fiercer than he’d seen it glow the other two times.

It was a relief to spot those bright spots in the darkness; he hadn’t called the girl to let her know that he was coming. He hadn’t even thought to make sure she was there at all. He would have felt spectacularly stupid had he just shown up to an empty field with a thermos flask of tomato soup in his hand. He heard it lapping around in there with every step he took. That meant he could have poured some more in there, didn’t it? (Fuck.)

The white pompom on her blue hat was the first thing he could make out as he approached. She was sitting in a camping chair with her lantern on a rickety little table beside her, braving the cold in a skirt and woolen tights again. On the other side of the fire with their backs to it sat the two men Gold had met that first night. They were chatting, adjusting their cameras on their tripods, pointing at the stars every so often.

The girl, however, was reading. And now that he was close enough to notice her serious expression as her eyes flew over the page, he couldn’t help but wonder with a secret smile and a glance up at the night sky what else she might have missed if she didn’t even notice _him_.

When he was close enough to feel the heat of the fire dancing in front of him, Gold coughed politely to get her attention. Startled, she snapped her head up and turned her wide eyes to him.

“Good evening, Ms French.”

“Oh!” she cried, her lips rounding perfectly. Surprise made way for recognition and a smile, and in a series of smooth movements, she retrieved a bookmark from the table, slipped it deftly between the pages and stood up from her chair. “Mr Gold!”

It wasn’t that she was very loud per se. She was just very loud in this wide open space where the sound of very distant traffic and a crackling fire were the loudest things. She’d drawn the attention of the two men. They looked over their shoulders for a moment, nodded a greeting at him and returned to their business.

Meanwhile, before he could tell her not to bother, she’d pulled a lonely folding chair from behind the table and dragged it next to hers. Close to the fire, where it looked very tempting. But he didn’t sit.

“I, uh. I just came to give you this,” said Gold, stepping closer, raising the thermos to catch her eye. “If you want it, that is. It’s… It’s just soup. I made too much.”

It was only when she raised her brow in surprise that it struck him how similar his words were to hers when she came by the shop to give him that candy bar. He opened his mouth to explain, but —

“Ah.” She gave an understanding nod. “Force of habit?”

“Yes, force of habit,” he sighed in relief, tension flowing out of his shoulders. “Neal likes leftovers.”

Smiling kindly, she held out her gloved hand. “Well, I’d love some.”

He felt lighter when he handed her the flask. Light enough for a faint smile as he watched her pull a styrofoam cup from a large, beaten up backpack propped up against a table leg.

Turning to the men on the other side of the fire, she called out, “There’s soup, guys!”

“Leave some!” the taller one called back.

She raised an eyebrow at them mid-sip, then turned back to him and playfully narrowed her eyes. “I might not, actually,” she told him in a secretive murmur, her lips curling up for a tiny smirk. “It’s really good. Can I offer you tea in return?”

He tried to decline her offer, but she’d already put down her cup of soup and grabbed a fresh one for him, and even though his mouth was still primed for a polite but decided _no thank you_ , he felt himself nod instead.

That was how Gold ended up staring at a fire with a styrofoam cup of tea in his hands, sitting on a rickety folding chair in the middle of an empty field on that dark, freezing, beautiful winter night. His tea was hot and the fire warmed his face. Closest to the fire, his knees were warmest. The chill in the air had made his head feel less stuffy than it had done all day, but this heat had its own charms.

“Any news?”

Gold blinked his eyes free from the fire and turned his head to look at Ms French instead. She’d angled her chair more towards his than to the fire, and the flickering flames were casting interesting shadows on one side of her face. The other side was dark. She wasn’t smiling now. She was waiting, very patiently, for an answer.

“The sheriff told me Neal was pulled over for speeding a few days ago. Near New Hampshire.”

Her big eyes, darker than they really were in the glow of the fire, grew even bigger as he spoke.

“He’s alright, he just… He’s not ready to talk to me.”

She stared at him for a moment, nodding slowly, her brow creased in thought. “I’m sure he will be,” she said softly.

Sighing, Gold looked down into his tea to spare the pretty girl the doubt written all over his face. Was she really so naive that her imagination - which he’d assumed to be rather potent, considering her peculiar hobby - didn’t allow her to consider that he might have done something a touch worse than, say, set his boy a less than generous curfew?

“I know what you’re thinking,” she told him, hints of both playfulness and resignation in her voice.

He glanced at her and her lopsided little smile and was worried, just for a second, that she really _did_.

“Do you?”

“Mhm. You’re thinking, ‘Right, but she’s also _sure_ -” and she paused for air quotes there, wiggling her fingers, “about the little green men up in the sky.’ Am I right?”

She was beaming at him now, grinning so big he couldn’t help but smile in response. (The pull started in his stomach, and then blossomed up his chest to make his lips move. Which was worrying.) It wasn’t quite what he was thinking, but now that she’d brought it up herself…

“Oh, they’re green, aye?”

She snorted out a laugh and seemed immediately embarrassed, because she pressed her lips together into a thin line right after that amusing little noise escaped her.

“Fred said they’re sort of lilac mixed with gray, actually.”

The meaningful quirk of her brow when she mentioned the man who had grabbed him and mumbled impossible things at him so desperately, didn’t escape him. And he hadn’t quite forgotten his unanswered question, either.

“You don’t believe him,” remarked Gold, letting his eyes flit over her face so he could read it. “The abduction story.”

Her grin faded just a little bit, but it didn’t go away completely. With a shrug and a thoughtful look at the fire, she said, “I wanted to. I _tried to._ ”

The fire crackled pleasantly on, keeping the momentary silence from becoming uncomfortable. It didn’t last too long, however. She blinked out of her stare, revved up her smile again and continued, “But then he got to the part where the aliens took him to Disney World and used mind control to get to the front of all the lines, so…”

Gold huffed out a laugh into his nearly empty cup of tea as he put it up to his lips. “Right.”

“But I don’t think he’s lying. I mean, I don’t think _he_ thinks he’s lying.” She paused, bit her lip, then crinkled her nose. “If that makes sense.”

“It does.”

It seemed there were gradations to this particular kind of madness, to the point where this girl didn’t strike him as being very mad at all. It was curious. And _he_ was curious.

“Do you really expect to see something out here?” he asked, nodding up towards the night sky.

“Well, yeah,” she replied, looking at him with slightly smaller eyes and a furrowed brow as if _he_ was the oddest person in the field that night. “I hope to, I mean.”

“It’s just that you were reading when I got here.”

Her bright grin reappeared, and then her shoulders shook in a silent giggle. “I don’t have the attention span to just stare up at the sky all night, so if I’m not out here on my own, then yeah! I’ll read a bit!”

Wait. Did that mean she sat here alone sometimes?

With her grin waning and turning into a distant little smile, the girl tilted her head back and looked up. With her eyes traversing the starry expanse, Gold felt completely free to stare at her in some sort of clumsy attempt to figure her out. What planet did she tumble down from? Did she _really_ believe in these things?

“But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He looked away from her red lips and followed her line of sight. Up above, the cold stars shone sharply, and the moon just above the barren thicket looked bigger than it did when it hung higher in the sky. Perspective, Gold knew, or something to that effect. An illusion. But she wasn’t wrong.

“If the universe is infinite,” she said, her voice much softer now, “don’t you think the chances are we’re not alone out here?”

Gold sneaked a look at her. Her eyes were wide to take it all in, her lips wore a faint smile and were parted as if in awe. He found it curiously difficult to look away, but he managed, in the end. He stared at his nearly empty cup of cold tea instead, turning it around and around and around in his hands. The styrofoam made a dry sound against the leather of his gloves. He hadn’t meant for that to draw her attention, but it did. He knew because he felt her eyes on him.

“I don’t think there’s anything quite like us.”

“I think there could be. Out there, somewhere completely different and new.”

There was something about those words that made him remember, with a tightening in his throat, the note he’d left for Neal before he came here that evening. He’d written it on the back of another one. One that joked about finding aliens before he found _him_. God, he wasn’t funny in the least, and now he was squandering time bothering kind, misguided strangers.

“I’d better get back,” sighed Gold, and he stopped twirling that flimsy little cup and stood up.

Ms French didn’t argue. Wordlessly, she followed him to the table, where he downed the rest of his tea and plopped down the cup.

“You need this back, right?” She pointed at the thermos flask.

Gold didn’t think he’d ever need that old thing again, but he didn’t want to saddle her with it either, so he wasn’t sure how to answer that question. He stared at the blue bottle for a while, opening and closing his mouth like a stuttering fish. He wished she wasn’t so patient. He was sharply aware of how ridiculous he must have looked - a suspicion bolstered by her gentle little laugh when his tired brain settled for a shrug and a helpless look over actual words.

“Alright,” she said, smiling very kindly at him. “I’m sure I’ll get it back to you somehow. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t. Not about that thermos flask. But he hadn’t heard those words in a while, and they sounded nicer than he remembered them. After the polite goodnights and the quiet walk back to his car parked underneath the trees by the side of the road, Gold drove the long way home.


	5. Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rain or shine, Ms French keeps checking in. Mr Gold gets news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around. <3

“Your shop reminds me of my grandmother’s attic a little bit,” Ms French decided, tracing the edge of his counter with a single finger as she walked slowly from one end to the other. “Sort of, I mean. I’ve never actually seen it cause she never let me. But when I stayed over there when I was little, I pictured these huge wooden trunks and crates and chests filled with stuff just like this.”

She pushed away from the counter and ambled leisurely towards the other side of the room. Gold reclaimed the freed up space by leaning on it with his elbows, and observed her. Her hair was just a little bit wet with rain. She hadn’t worn a hat, nor brought an umbrella, but it was by no means a deluge of biblical proportions she’d gotten caught in. Just a little bit of rain, that was all.

“Never tried to sneak up there?” he asked.

“Mhm. Three times. I got caught halfway up the ladder once and fell off twice. Slipped off the bottom rung and bumped my head really badly the last time.”

Gold cringed a little bit; he could practically hear the heavy thud. Ms French, unharmed in this moment, smiled at him over her shoulder and gave a resigned shrug.

“And you never tried again?”

“No,” she sighed wistfully, reaching up to very gingerly tap her finger against the weight of the bamboo wind chime strung up in the far right corner of the room. It made a hollow sound. “I stopped minding after a while, though, not knowing what it was like. That way I could imagine _anything_ up there.”

Gold quirked an eyebrow. “Anything?”

“Oh yes,” she replied, nodding seriously. “There was a tiger up there, at one point!”

Gold cast a slow, fruitless look around the room. The closest thing to a tiger in this place was the tuxedo cat at the feet of the old woman in the oil painting behind him.

His lips twitched into an involuntary smile, minuscule but undeniably there. “That sounds dangerous.”

“I thought the ladder was scarier.”

Finished with her survey, Ms French made her way back. Gold straightened, watched her carefully as she swung her leather bag to her front and searched it for something. It didn’t take her long to find his blue thermos flask and put it on the counter with a _thud_. She smiled at him wordlessly and with bright eyes full of expectation, making the temptation far too great for him to resist.

“That’ll be twelve ninety-nine,” he told her, deadpan.

Her little laugh rang pleasantly through the air. He enjoyed making her do that, Gold thought as he let himself smile back. It was remarkably easy, and it felt nice to succeed at something. She pushed the flask even closer to his side of the counter demonstratively, so he took over at the halfway point.

“Thank you for returning this.”

What he really meant to thank her for was her knack for being so tremendously distracting. Gold had spent the better part of that day in the back room, staring at the wall and listening to the rain, wondering if his son was still driving as far away from him as he could or if he’d found somewhere he would like to stay. But then his bell chimed, and she called his name, and mere minutes later he was hunting tigers in his shop.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she said softly, putting on a look of contrition that certainly would have made him forgive her if he’d actually cared about that old bit of plastic. “I thought you might come by the field again, so I had it there with me a couple of nights, but…”

Her voice trailed off, and she gave a subtle shrug in place of the words that didn’t come.

“That’s quite alright. I didn’t miss it.”

“You missed a few shooting stars, though.”

“Oh,” was all a blinking Gold could manage, feeling most of his words slip out of his reach when she raised her eyebrows and bit down on her smile. “Well.”

Along with his acute inability to carry on the conversation came a strong silence that visibly affected the girl, too. She looked this way and then that, shifted her weight from her heels to her toes and back again in a faint rocking motion that made the floorboards creak, then flashed a helpless little smile when their eyes met again.

Suddenly, he knew what to say.

“No news yet.”

Yes, that was it. That was what she was waiting for, because when he told her, her shoulders went a little softer and she sighed. Now it was her turn to struggle with words, it seemed. But she was quicker than him to remedy that, straightening her shoulders, taking a breath and staring at him with her lips parted in preparation until finally, after a few seconds, the words came.

“Mr Gold, I - … You can tell me if I’m bothering you, or if it’s strange for me to check in like this — I’m a stranger to you, after all. And you certainly don’t _have_ to let me know if you get any news, but… If you don’t mind, I mean, then I’d like to know. When you hear something, or if there’s something I can help you with, you can call me any time. If you like.”

As she bravely made her faltering appeal, Gold thought that yes; he did think her a little strange. But he also suspected that there was something very innocuous at the root of it all, in all likelihood. Perhaps it was simply empathy and curiosity combining to make her a particularly nosy creature. There was also an eagerness to be of help that was endearing in its own way, and spoke of a certain naivety, too.

But in the end, ‘strange’ explained it perfectly fine, Gold felt. ‘Strange’ didn’t need further poking and prodding.

“I don’t mind,” he said, watching her worried face clear up for a relieved smile. “I’ll let you know.”

“That’s great!” she chirped, and she began to _click_ the clips of her bag back into place. “Thank you, I’ll… I’ll get out of your hair for now and get back to work.”

Was she tending to her books or her flowers today, he wondered? The world beyond the windows seemed darker and thoroughly soaked. Stormy now. He could hear the wind rattle the shutters on the floor above. When she reached the door, a sudden gust of wind made the rain hit the windows in a frightening flurry. Gold’s forehead creased into a severe frown.

“Ms French,” he said. “Take an umbrella.”

The girl looked at him over her shoulder, confused until he nodded towards the umbrella stand right next to her feet.

“But there’s only one in there!” She furrowed her brow as she touched her fingers to the wooden handle of his trusty black umbrella.

“I have another one in the back,” he lied.

She aimed her bright blue eyes at him, then at the umbrella, and finally back at him again. Eyes smaller, lips faintly pursed in thought.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice a doubtful mewl. “Cause I can just make a run for it.”

Gold raised an eyebrow and glanced at the window in the door again. The cars driving past his shop were sending up huge splashes of ice cold rainwater, and he didn’t have to go outside and look to know the gutters had turned into veritable miniature canals for twigs and plastic wrappers and whatnot.

“Not that I think it wouldn’t be interesting to see you try in those heels, but yes, I’m sure.”

Ms French sputtered a little laugh, rolled her eyes and gave in. “Thank you,” she said, waving at him with the handle of the umbrella as she opened the door.

“You’re welcome.”

The little bell above his door rang a final time. Before the door fell shut, he heard the satisfying _whoosh_ of his umbrella being opened. A flash of that black fabric in the window in the door was the last he saw of her that day. 

…

The heavy rain didn’t let up until after closing time, but he had the books to busy himself with. Numbers were cold and awful, but they swallowed time and thoughts with very little effort. Even if it did make him feel like he was made of cardboard.

When the downpour lessened to a drizzle, Gold took his coat and left for home. Halfway there, the drizzle turned into a downpour again, banging down on the roof of his car and putting his windshield wipers to the test.

The walk from the driveway to his front door where he fumbled with the keys (of course) was short, but nevertheless sufficiently long to make him look like a drowned setter once he finally made it inside. Staring into the mirror in the hallway, he slipped his fingers through his wet hair to pull it back, but it fell right back into his face again. With a sigh and a glare at his reflection, Gold gave up and wandered into his living room.

He’d barely sat down for two seconds when his phone rang and buzzed against his thigh. He jumped up and pulled it out of his pocket. Unknown number. He nearly dropped the bloody thing in his hurry to answer.

“Hello?”

“Dad. It’s me.”

That voice. His heart. His poor old heart; it jumped, it squeezed, it filled with something - words, perhaps - and was set to burst.

“Neal!” he called out, his eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“Don’t talk,” came the softly spoken command. “Just listen.”

His voice died in his throat, his mouth remained dumbly open. There was so much to say, but even more to risk. Slowly, obediently, Gold sat back down in silence.

“I still hate what you did. I’m still angry. I’m doing fine on my own, and I’m not coming home. I’ve got a car, I’ve been saving up for years. Don’t…”

_Worry? Try to find him?_

He felt his heart beat in his throat as he waited for more, listened, very closely, for clues. He could hear a car running and assumed it was his. He didn’t hear any rain tapping on the car roof. There were distant voices, people outside the car. They sounded cheerful.

“Son?” he tried.

It was a soft little, “Yeah,” easily missed if he hadn’t been so completely focused on his son’s voice.

“I’m so sorry. Please believe me.”

“I know you are.”

“Why don’t you come home, then?” he sighed, letting his head fall forward into the palm of his hand.

“Sorry doesn’t make things any less fucked up. It still hurts.”

His voice was more even, less fragile than he’d last heard it. Hearing his son speak with pain in his voice had shattered Gold’s heart into thousands of jagged little pieces, but this calm determination when he spoke about not coming back - it frightened him.

“Where are you?” he asked, lifting himself out of his chair one handedly, putting too much weight on his bad ankle in the process. He grimaced, but didn’t make a sound.

“Nowhere.”

“Neal, please,” he pleaded, limping slowly to the rain-streaked window that looked out onto the flooded street. “Please just tell me where you are.”

“I don’t want you coming after me. I didn’t tell your cop buddies, and I’m not telling you.”

“When you left, I called the sheriff. He said all he could do was ask around. They’re not my… my cop buddies, Neal.”

“Whatever.”

Shaking his head, Gold clenched his eyes shut. Slowly, he put his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He wanted to tell him that he could trust him not to come after him, but in his heart, he knew that was another lie. Neal would know, too.

“Please tell me.”

“I’m safe. I’m where I wanna be. That’s all you need to know.”

Gold swallowed and moved away from the window to lean against the wall instead.

“Then… When do you think you might…” He had to pause to swallow the tightness in his throat then. Just for a second. “When do you think you might be coming back?”

“I’m too angry to think about that right now,” he replied in a mumble. “Maybe never. Maybe this is me moving out.”

He felt suddenly sick. He shook his head again. That gesture didn’t do anything, of course; Neal didn’t unsay what he’d said. He didn’t change his mind. It didn’t turn back time. But there was nothing else he could do.

“Don’t say that. Please, son, until you’re less upset, can you just let me know you’re safe once in a while? Please.”

“I’ll text. Don’t call me. And… And don’t worry.”

Just before the line went dead, he heard it. The car door opening and a girl’s voice, cheerfully calling out his son’s name. He wasn’t alone, wherever he was. That was good, wasn’t it? That was good.

That was what Gold told himself as he limped towards the note he’d left in the hallway to copy the number from his last call to the back of the paper. Neal wasn’t alone. He had money. He had a car. That was good. He cared enough to let him know. That was brilliant news.

And Gold had a number. He wasn’t allowed to call it, but it was there. Back in his living room, slumped in his chair, he took his time to copy the number back into his phone with his eyes stinging and his throat full. He still hadn’t learned to do it the proper way, but it didn’t matter. This way, he had it on paper, too. He named the new contact _Neal 1._ Ridiculous, but he wasn’t going to delete his son’s old number in a million years, and it would confuse him terribly otherwise.

There was something far more ridiculous in there anyway, Gold realized as he scrolled down his updated list of contacts very slowly, just to make sure the new number was there.

There was _Neal_ , and there was _Neal 1_ immediately after, but just a few small swipes of his finger more revealed the strangest thing in his list of contacts.

_Space Girl_

His finger hovered above those two words, lingered there. He breathed in and found it easy, but when he breathed out, it came out in shivers. He was in no state to speak to anyone right now.

But she’d asked.

His throat was tight, his chest was tight, his fist was tight around the handle of his cane when he retrieved it from the hallway. With the phone held up to his ear, waiting for the girl to pick up, regretting his decision with each and every consecutive tone, Gold walked into his kitchen.

By the time she picked up and greeted him with a surprised, “Mr Gold,” he was just about ready to hang up and drop his phone to the bloody floor.

“I’m sorry, it’s late,” he blurted.

“No, no, it’s alright,” she said, urgently as if she knew he was sorely considering throwing his phone across the room. “It’s only eight. Really, it’s fine.”

_8:06_ , said the clock on the microwave oven. Gold blinked at it, then looked out of the kitchen window. Pitch black. Still pouring down. Might as well have been three in the morning.

“Mr Gold?”

“Yes, I…”

It sounded as if she was close to a window with the rain beating fiercely against it, fiercer than it did here.

“Did something happen? Is your son alright?”

There was tension in her voice, a tremble he didn’t expect. And when he realized what that meant, what _she_ meant, he broke out of his daze and rushed to explain.

“He just called me to let me know he’s fine,” he said, feeling a little lighter when he heard himself say the words. “He has no plans to come home, but he’s alright.”

He heard her sigh, then. The shakiness of it and the audible relief sounded odd to his ears. Had she not been adamant that he would be getting good news soon? Had she not told him she was sure he would?

“That’s good. I’m glad.” She paused for a second, then hurriedly added, “Not the part about not coming home. Not that.”

Cane in hand, Gold turned away from the disturbing blackness framed by his kitchen window and walked slowly back to the living room.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” he said, sinking down onto the sofa. “I’m glad I heard his voice. It’s just…”

She waited patiently, but he couldn’t finish his sentence, no matter how many seconds ticked away.

“You miss him.”

“Yes.”

And his loud music coming from his bedroom, and the amusing pictures of adorable animals he liked to show him on his tablet, and his laundry piled up in a basket outside his bedroom, and opening the dishwasher in the morning to see Neal had finished all of the leftovers at some point during the night.

He would just have to start buying less food, he supposed.

“It can’t be easy, being on your own now.”

Slowly, blinking up at the ceiling, Gold brought his legs up on the sofa and lay down on his back.

“I’m alright,” he said, even though the heavy feeling just behind his lower ribs made him think that he might not be. But his racing heart had slowed, and his shoulders weren’t tight anymore. He was glad he’d called.

“Well, when you’re not, and even when you are… you can always come to the field and hang out with me. With us.”

Gold breathed out slowly and closed his tired eyes. The girl was very persistent with her polite invitations. They were good, too. It was almost tempting to believe she genuinely thought him good company.

“You’re very kind.”

“I’m very serious!”

He couldn’t help but smile now. “I’m not going to die of loneliness, Ms French. There’s no need to worry about me.”

“Well,” she began, drawing out the sound with a playful lilt. “Then I guess you’ll just… never see your umbrella again.”

He cracked open his eyes to stare at the ceiling in utter confusion and frowned. “Ms French?” he prompted, his voice a little deeper.

With amusement lacing her voice, she explained, “It’s an excuse to come spend time with us strange gullible types, Mr Gold.”

“It’s a hostage situation, that’s what that is.”

Her laughter finally broke through, louder than the rain. He smiled again.

“Either way,” she sighed, and he pictured her eyes glinting with laughter.

“Yeah. Either way.”


	6. Strange Things at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is only so much boredom a man can take before he finds himself soliciting distraction from blue-eyed UFO enthusiasts.
> 
> Apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Thank you for the support. <3 Means the world.

Gold couldn’t remember ever really being bothered by television’s meagre offerings, but then he’d never been this incredibly bored either. He supposed it made sense that he was struggling to keep busy. Who was he without Neal, really? The pawn shop guy? The landlord? Just name tags, that. No substance. What did he _do_?

In his youth, he wove a shallow web, meandering and ever-changing by necessity. He expanded, mended it or tore it loose at will over grey city streets and cobblestone alleys and traversed it with nimble legs and sharp eyes. What little company he kept was often questionable but mostly temporary. He always had plenty to do, which wasn’t to say that any of it was meaningful.

When Neal came, he gave him a center to weave around, so Gold made a cocoon of his web and settled somewhere innocuous. Somewhere he hadn’t yet taken a tattooed fist to the jaw for looking at someone in a way he didn’t expect to invite that sort of violence. It felt strange to live purposefully at first but he took to it quickly. Part of him hadn’t expected to, considering the examples set for him earlier in his life.

Leaving home - such as it was - had made his world much smaller. Smaller was safer. If everything he cared for was few and near, then he could _take care_ of everything he cared for. That was his reasoning, at least, and though he thought it sound at the time, he had come to understand that there was something frantically, desperately, woefully naive about it. Holding on too tight, like a child clutching all its dollies to its chest.

Even so. When his ex-wife left, the center of his narrow universe held, because it wasn’t her. It was Neal. It was Neal and him spending their days in this pink house in this sleepy little town - never too busy but never bored.

Not like now, in any case. It was almost enough to make him miss the nonstop anxiety and the compulsive nighttime drives to nowhere. At least that gave him something to focus on. _Christ_ , he was bored, despite his best efforts to waste his own time. He no longer shopped for the entire week on a Monday afternoon, for one. Instead he made more trips to the grocery store than was strictly sensible and efficient. He cooked for himself and took his time to plate. He considered the dishwasher on an extended and long-deserved break and washed the dishes by hand. He walked instead of drove, and he’d even taken out his old sewing kit and ferreted about the house for clothes to mend, but that didn’t take up more than an afternoon.

Television was his last resort. Not because of any sort of disdain towards the medium - he just hadn’t been that familiar with it in recent years. He’d sat down in front of it that Friday night and lost all hope after roughly forty minutes of fruitless channel surfing. Television, it turned out, was not the time-sink and savior he had hoped it would be.

When he turned it off and the screen turned black, Gold sat immobile for a few moments longer, waiting for the will to move his limbs. Forty minutes of decreasingly hopeful staring had taken him past eight pm, which was something, at least. He saw himself reflected in the dead screen, slouching on the sofa with the top buttons of his shirt undone and hand in his hair supporting his heavy head. He looked a mess.

That was quite enough of that. Up. Up and towards the window looking out on the lifeless street. Above dark houses with warmly lit windows, the sky was clear. Pitch black and dotted with stars.

He didn’t really decide on it. Not consciously. He just found himself in his bedroom all of the sudden, buttoning up his shirt, picking out a tie. A waistcoat. A jacket. He made his mussed hair less of a bird’s nest, all the while ignoring the little voice in the back of his head as it made relevant but very unwelcome comments such as: _what do you think you’re doing_ and _polite invitations are not real invitations_.

He wrote another note for Neal, grabbed his coat, stepped out into the freezing cold, got into his car, and drove.

He had an excuse to recover.

…

“You came!”

Ms French’s smile was big and bright in the darkness and made the voice in his head telling him he was making a fool of himself slink away. Now he could hear the crackling fire and the quiet but busy murmurs of the group standing a few paces away. She was wearing a long black coat tonight, and her hat was darker too. If it hadn’t been for the lantern and her toothy grin, she might have melted right into the darkness.

She whirled about getting him settled with her pompom wobbling on top of her head, and each time she passed him, Gold caught the scent of campfire and something else. Something floral and deep. Perfume. Within seconds, there was a cup of tea in his hands and a folding chair under his bum. No mention of his umbrella, though.

As she pulled her chair a little closer to his and sat down, Gold looked at the handful of people on the other side of the fire and wondered about them. They were all bundled up, and each of them had an expensive looking camera strapped around the neck, or secured on a tripod. Some of them had tea, courtesy of their graceful host, no doubt.

“The local photography club showed up,” explained Ms French, who must have noticed his curious glance. “They brought chocolate chip cookies. Would you like one?”

“No, no thank you.”

Should he have brought something, too? It probably didn’t matter to her too much. She seemed chipper enough, moving restlessly in her chair and constantly smiling. Pleased with the turnout perhaps, even if they didn’t really concern themselves with her. They were chatting amongst themselves, peering through viewfinders, taking more time adjusting the settings on their cameras than they did actually taking pictures.

“Do they come ‘round often?” asked Gold, tentatively puncturing the silence between them.

“Once or twice a year. I didn’t expect them actually, cause it’s kind of hard to get good Milky Way shots with a moon this bright.”

“Oh. Is it?”

She smiled patiently. “Yeah! Too much light. Well, I mean, not the light you want.”

Gold mouthed another _oh_ and gave a slow thoughtful nod. He knew next to nothing about photography, but that made sense.

“Usually I don’t bring my own camera, cause Geoff and Leo - you’ve met them - they always bring theirs and I reckon they’re much quicker on the draw than I am. But I thought I was gonna be on my own tonight, so I’ve actually brought it - ” She paused very briefly to gesture vaguely in the direction of the photographers, and deepened her voice just a touch, “- and then _these_ guys show up.”

Gold felt the beginnings of a smile pull at his lips. “You’re outgunned.”

“Exactly!” she laughed. “Doesn’t matter though. I forgot my tripod, anyway.”

Though her twinkling eyes and her beaming grin were very distracting, his brain had gotten a hold of a handful of words she’d said. He couldn’t let go until he actually pictured her here on her own, sitting and hoping in the biting cold for something to happen that never would. Or, well, something that was unlikely to, he thought to himself as he turned his stare to the vastness up above their heads. Terribly unlikely, though.

“How’ve you been?”

Ms French’s eyes, darkened by the fire, moved slowly over his face. He struggled to find an answer he could actually bring himself to give. Did she know? Was that why she’d asked him so quietly?

“I’ve just been trying to keep busy.”

Yes. That would do.

“Waiting for the storm to blow over?”

Gold smiled, shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“You’re very patient, aren’t you?”

Her confident statement (it wasn’t really a question) surprised him. He smiled wryly at the tea in his cup.

“That’s just about the last thing I feel,” he said. His words sounded to him far more pathetic and whingeing than he had intended them to. Quickly, he turned the conversation to her instead. “I had the same thought about you, actually.”

Her incredibly blue eyes locked onto his for a confused look. “That I’m patient? No-one’s ever told me that before. Why?”

Gold aimed a demonstrative nod up at the starry sky, then waited for her to catch on. It took a few seconds for her confused frown to disappear, but when it did, the change was immediate.

“You say that like you think I haven’t spotted anything yet,” she said, a mysterious little smirk growing on her pale face.

“You have?”

She turned silent and serious now, chewing her bottom lip. Suddenly and with an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, Gold wondered if he was going to regret asking her. She may not have believed her enthusiastically deluded friend - Fred, was it? - but that didn’t necessarily preclude her from having her own bouts of mythomania.

(And why on _earth_ did he care what she did or did not believe in?)

“I think I have,” she said, her voice a soft whisper as she stared at the dancing flames in front of them. “A few times. Mostly lights that didn’t make any sense, but…” A few silent seconds ticked away, during which her stare became less distant. She blinked, then looked at him. An embarrassed smile crept onto her face. “Whatever it was, it was always gone before I could make sure, and I don’t have any proof or anything. But I think so. Have you never seen anything strange at night?”

Brow raised, Gold sighed and sat back in his chair. The plastic seat made a worrying sound against the aluminum frame, but held. There were a few choice anecdotes about Glasgow nightlife in the early eighties that certainly qualified, but it was not that kind of conversation.

“Like lights, you mean?” Gold brought his tea up to his lips, observing her over the rim of the cup. The sugary sweet tea had cooled down rapidly in this winter cold.

“Yeah!” The wool of her ochre tights made a dry sound as she crossed one leg over the other. He glanced down and decided he rather liked her brown boots. “Or things that don’t look like airplanes or anything else. That sort of thing.”

“Lights I couldn’t quite place, perhaps,” Gold admitted, “but it would never occur to me that a scientist or a psychologist wouldn’t be able to explain it away.”

While he’d been speaking, Ms French had pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in a glorious expression of deep thought, but then she bounced up and straightened herself in her chair. _That_ bit was rather meerkat-like, Gold noted, but then she put her hands over her knees and leaned forward, her eyes bright and full of intent like a lion cub clumsily and happily preparing to strike.

“Okay, but that’s what happens with loads of stuff. Like will-o’-the-wisp, right? People thought it was ghosts, or demons, or made up all together before they found out it was just a chemical process.”

Gold nodded. Was she making his point for him, or was he missing hers? She was speaking fast, and the literal fire reflected in her eyes was rather poetic, and her accent was making her lips twist and curve in the most interesting ways. What _was_ that perfume? Was it roses?

“And tons of people didn’t even believe that it was real at all cause they never saw it for themselves. I reckon one day, extraterrestrial life might just be the answer to a few unanswered questions.”

Gold only realized he was smiling when Ms French’s eyes drifted down to his lips and she shot him a bemused smile back. He forced his face into a neutral expression of mild interest instead.

“I do understand your reasoning.”

“But?”

“The odds of making contact with other life, of finding evidence of it now and _here_ , they’re… infinitesimal.”

Gold couldn’t tell if Ms French agreed, even though she had been giving little nods as she listened. She looked at his hands wrapped around his cup of tea for a moment, her smile fading just a touch.

Her conclusion startled him: “You must be bored stiff here.”

“No!” he replied, with quite a bit of feeling, surprising himself thoroughly. Calmer, he continued, “I’m not. I didn’t mean it like that. Compared to the days I’ve been having, this is - … And anyway, I -”

_\- rather enjoy prodding at your mind and making you laugh._

Prompted by his silence, Ms French raised her brow in innocent curiosity. He swallowed and looked away from her insistent stare and back at the dancing flames.

“And the fresh air’s nice.”

She made a soft little sound, something like a huff and a giggle. “That’s good to hear. I do have to warn you though, if you stick around long enough, your coat’s going to smell like a campfire for a while.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so when suddenly there came a surprised outcry from the photographers on the other side of the fire, Gold welcomed the distraction with open arms. His and Ms French’s heads swiveled simultaneously towards the source of the excited chatter. They were pointing up at something in the sky.

That something was a bright dot of light, brighter than any star in the sky, moving faster than any airplane could, from the northwest to the east. Ms French let out a soft gasp, but Gold knew what it was and wasn’t quite as affected. What did affect him was her hand on his wrist, giving it a squeeze to make sure he was looking, too.

It was the International Space Station, zooming past at a dazzling speed. Such speed, Gold felt, was almost frightening without a deafening sound to accompany it. He glanced at Ms French’s excited face and his heart felt just a little bit as if it were melting. Her eyes were so big and full of hope. He didn’t want to tell her. He couldn’t bring himself to, not with that face on her. Someone else would. Wouldn’t they? Surely he wasn’t the only one who knew?

He forced himself to look away from her face so full of wonder and followed the shining beacon as it kept its steady speed. Impressive though the sight was, the slight weight of her hand on his arm called his eyes towards that sight instead. He wasn’t so sure why. She was wearing her fingerless gloves again. Her nails were painted black as the sky.

Suddenly, in a tone that was quiet but somehow managed to carry all of the excitement he’d seen in her eyes, Ms French told him, “That was the ISS.”

_Oh._

Gold’s eyes shot up towards her face. She was looking at him and smiling calmly as she took her hand back. If she was looking at him, then that meant the bright dot must have disappeared beyond the horizon again.

“You knew -”

And he snapped his mouth shut again just as quickly as the words escaped his treacherous mouth. His obvious stumble drew deep lines of confusion in her forehead.

“What?” she prompted gently, curiously.

“I mean, yes, I… I know. I’ve seen it before.”

God, he wished he knew what his face was doing. He’d made her frown somehow - not angrily, not in a sad way; just as if there was something a little bit wrong with what he’d said. As if she could see right through him. He tried to smile but couldn’t, and her frown was getting more severe by the second.

“Did you think I thought it was… something else?”

His heart stopped beating when her keen eyes began to move over his face again to read it, to scan it, to pull his disguise up. There wasn’t anything forceful about her words, but they hit him fairly hard anyway, simply and solely because they made him aware of what a condescending little prick he must have seemed to her; and perhaps he bloody well was.

“No,” he said, willing his face into the consummate mask of calm. Was it a lie if he was perfectly willing to go back in time and smack some sense into himself for even considering it if he could? “Of course not.”

Of _course_ not. She wasn’t feeble-minded. She wasn’t delusional. She was just…

… The photographers turned their cameras back to the sky in silence. A sudden gust of ice cold wind jostled the flames in the fire basket about. As they held each other’s gaze, Ms French’s open face transformed again, making her look as cheerful as she had before he’d nearly put his foot in it. It took him all the effort in the world not to sigh in relief.

“Oh, alright!”

… She was just hopeful. That was all. Was there anything wrong with that?

“I wasn’t sure for a second, there,” she giggled softly, giving a cute shrug. “You’re sort of hard to read.”

He knew that. And he was glad.

There wasn’t much to see in the night sky that night, Ms French told him. There was a flash of light, a lone meteor they were both too slow to really properly catch, but that was all. It was impossible to sit still in this freezing wide open space for very long, and his empty house began to call for him after another half hour of silence dotted with the occasional remark or question. It called for him to run back and make it a home just in case Neal was on his way back.

Half the photography club had given up and left for either the Rabbit Hole, or the diner — the debate was still ongoing as the threesome of friends walked past. When his tea, slowly nursed well after it had gone cold, was completely gone, Gold announced his departure as well.

“Wait!” she said, rising along with him. “I’ll walk with you. You still need your umbrella.”

“Oh. Right.”

She grabbed her lantern, and Gold grabbed his cane, and together they made their way towards the gate.

“I put it in the shed so I wouldn’t forget to bring it with me.”

“The shed?” Gold repeated.

“Well, I call it a shed,” pointing towards a little brick structure with a flat roof in the corner of the field, quite near the gate. It was no bigger than a very small bathroom in a very small flat. “I don’t know if it’s a shed. The farmer lets us keep our stuff there.”

They walked at a leisurely pace over the frozen grass. Gold looked down at his feet to make sure he didn’t slip and make a fool of himself, Belle looked up at the sky because she probably didn’t care if she did. It took a while, but they reached the building eventually. They couldn’t hear the others anymore, and the light of the fire basket was just a spot of orange in the darkness.

“Can you hold this for me?” she asked, handing him the lantern.

She fished some keys out of her coat pocket. There were more keychains on there than he could count. One of them seemed to be a little metallic UFO, and another one was either a little plastic cow or a dalmatian. No, a dalmatian. The spots were too small for it to be a cow.

“There!” she said, pushing open the very creaky door with dark green paint splintering and peeling off it. “There’s no light, so…”

Gold still had the lantern, so he walked into the fusty little structure first. There were cobwebs in the corners of the ceiling and the grout was crumbling from between old red bricks. He thought it odd that Ms French didn’t follow him in immediately until he actually _looked_ at what was in there and realized there wasn’t a lot of room for two, anyway.

There were folding chairs stacked in rows haphazardly against the wall, two dozen or so at least. In a corner stood two more fire baskets, one was filled with extra firewood and the other held a plastic bag with styrofoam cups and similar supplies. Leaning against the wall next to the door was a big bag of charcoal, and close to it stood a fairly big barbecue grill with assorted utensils. There was a bicycle, too. Hers?

Raising a single eyebrow, Gold looked over his shoulder. Ms French was leaning against the doorframe, watching him with a little smile.

“In case they land?” he asked dryly.

She snorted and rolled her eyes; but she wanted to laugh, really. It was obvious. Either she wasn’t very good at hiding it, or she didn’t care about hiding it at all. Both options pleased him equally.

“It used to get a lot busier here.”

Gold turned to face her. Her breath made little puffs of white in the pale light of the lantern. She had a sort of distant half smile on her face as her eyes passed over the objects in the room. Reminiscing.

“That busy?”

“Mm. I sort of took over when the couple who started this whole thing moved to Nevada last year. Back then there was lots more local interest, but way more passing visitors too. I tried to do things exactly like they did, but I guess people felt it wasn’t the same.”

She paused, sighed and shifted her weight from one hip to the other. Her little lantern cast a lunar light on her face there in the doorway with the dark night sky behind her.

“They were so charming and likable,” she continued, a hint of resignation in her voice. “People always took to them instantly, and I… I’m not shy or anything and I know I’m not a terrible host, but… I guess it’s just something people have or they don’t. And maybe I just don’t.”

Gold felt his forehead fold into a frown, his heart grow a little heavy in his chest. To hell with his umbrella. Could he not keep forgetting it instead? If she didn’t _mind_ him here, surely he could spare some evenings of his barren social life to fill a seat for this girl and her sweet intentions?

“That sounds kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?” she laughed suddenly. “I don’t mind, really. Makes it all the more special when someone does show up.”

Her grin and her bright-eyed stare were doing funny things to his insides.

“Flyers,” he offered. Blurted, more like.

She quirked an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Flyers. You could try leaving flyers around town.”

“Oh! Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I could, couldn’t I?” she replied in a thoughtful mewl as she let her eyes wander up to the ceiling in contemplation. “Or, y’know, you could just bring all your friends next time.”

She was joking, but still the very thought of having a gaggle of friends to drag out _anywhere_ made him burst out in self-mocking laughter.

“You’re looking at them, I’m afraid,” he replied, biting his lip right after.

Ms French rolled her eyes again, tried to fight down a grin and took a few small steps into the building, the soles of her boots shuffling over the roughly poured concrete floor.

Gold blinked. What was she doing?

She closed the door behind her. It made a sharp, alarmed sound he could imagine himself making in that moment had he not had complete control over his vocal cords. He held his breath for some reason, his eyes growing wide as he stared in wonder.

With a mysterious little smile, she simply turned to her left and reached for something previously hidden by the opened door.

Aha. In the corner: his umbrella.

They traded. He gave her her lantern, and she gave him his excuse back. He could barely bring himself to close his fingers around the wooden handle.

“I’d really like it if you visited again. It’s been nice, talking.”

The sincerity in her voice - and she spoke softer now that the door was closed and they were all alone together in this tiny dark room without windows - was almost convincing. Very nearly. Almost entirely convincing, in fact. Almost.

“Yeah,” he said, pausing to swallow the sudden dryness in his throat. “It’s been nice.”

She lowered her head a little bit as if peering at him over invisible spectacles and raised an eyebrow. “Even if you are a little cheeky sometimes.”

When she turned away (jokingly mumbling, “In case they land — _really?”_ ), Gold could breathe in deep again. He could smile, too. The door squeaked, the ice cold air rushed inside, and he followed her out. He stood there a little awkwardly as she closed and locked the dark green door.

Yes, definitely a little plastic dalmatian.

“Well,” she sighed, slipping her keys back into her pocket. “Goodnight then.”

“Yes, goodnight. I… I, ah…”

She waited very patiently for him to spit it out. But he was still deciding, really, whether he meant what he was about to say. It took him only three seconds of being subjected to her sweet smile and her unearthly blue eyes to decide that in fact, he did.

“I’ll see you, then.”

Her smile bloomed into a victorious grin and she bounced on her heels in celebration just once. _Boing_ went her pompom.

“Brilliant!”

After another round of goodnights, they each walked their own way. Gold to his car, Ms French to her fire and her tea and her cookies and her guests. In his car, just as he put the key in the ignition, his phone chimed.

_Everything alright, good night._

Neal. His sweet boy. A nice night, all things considered. He smiled at the brightness of the screen and texted back as quick as he could.

_Thank you for texting. Good night. I love you._

Then he drove home under orange streetlights and the occasional neon sign. At the first red light he encountered, Gold made another decision: He would add Ms French to his imaginary list of strange things seen at night. Right at the top, circled and underlined for good measure.


	7. Any Other Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ms French needs a favor. Mr Gold has a name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you. <3

It was a gloomy little Monday, so somnolent that the addition of a bit of rain or snow surely would have livened things up. But the skies stayed heavily gray and reticent all morning, and did not clear nor burst.

In the back room of his shop, Gold sat with his fingers circling a steaming cup of tea. Chief amongst his thoughts was Neal, who hadn’t texted since that Friday, thereby continuing the very slow lesson of patience and contrition it was his fatherly duty to complete.

He knew it was useless to jump up every time the little bell above the door signaled an arrival as it did then, but he couldn’t quite shake this new habit. It was a curious state of being, being fundamentally pessimistic down to the core and yet sparking with hope and excitement at the slightest provocation these days.

He left his cane in the back room and went to see who had walked in. In addition to the inevitable sting of disappointment when he realized it wasn’t Neal, Gold felt something else, something undefined when he saw Ms French making her way into the room, taking off her hat and stuffing it unceremoniously into one of her coat pockets until just the pale mint green pompom stuck out.

Her unreasonably blue eyes settled on him, and she smiled.

“Hi!”

He was a bit too fascinated by the ease of the moment - strolling right in as she did - to think of something a little more elaborate than the, “Oh, hey,” he managed to come up with as he moved to his place behind the counter.

“Is it okay if I bug you on your lunch break?” she asked, unbothered by his inarticulacy. Was it noon already?

“Yeah, of course.”

“Just a few minutes, I promise. I need you to give me your opinion on something.”

Even _he_ hadn’t had any use for his own opinion in a while. He stared for a moment, then wiped the confused look from his face and offered a nod.

“I’ll certainly try.”

“Great!”

She walked up to the counter with short, lively steps, unbuttoning her brown peacoat as she went. And ah, something drifted up to the surface of his thoughts then. A thing that had been swimming figure eights somewhere very dark and deep underneath his more ready memories ever since he woke up from a dream last Saturday, all tangled in his sheets with nothing but a fading image of the shadow of a fire projected against the wall of a nylon tent, and his index finger and thumb holding onto the zipper of a puffy jacket - someone else’s jacket - pulling it very slowly down, down, down, and — 

Her cheery “Okay!” jolted him back into the moment, in time to see her retrieve a piece of paper from her leather satchel. She placed it in front of him on his glass counter, turning it so he could see.

“So everything I mocked up on my computer looked really unprofessional and tacky,” she began, speaking fast and gesturing enthusiastically, “so I thought, why not embrace the low budget nineties look, right? I’m gonna go over it with a marker when it’s done. What do you think?”

A flyer. She’d gone and made a flyer with nothing more than a piece of paper and a pencil. There were stars (each composed of three or four simple little lines of varying length crossing one another) and trees (yet more lines arranged to make a shape reminiscent of a Christmas tree cookie cutter) and a charmingly crooked little flying saucer in the upper left corner. In the corner opposite: a perfect crescent moon.

There were no directions or anything else written on it yet, but she’d marked a space right below the trees for that, and there was a barren spot in the blanket of stars that would do nicely for a few eye-catching words as well. It was effective, clean, calculatedly childlike, and surprisingly well composed. The entire thing made him smile.

“Do you like it?” she asked, her voice a little higher with what Gold quickly identified as hope.

“It’s… charming, actually. I see what you’re going for.”

“Yeah?” she peeped. “I can’t really draw so it took me ages. Is it subtle enough, d’you think?”

“What do you mean?”

She pursed her lips for a moment and lowered her voice to a secretive tone. “You know, the UFO bit,” she said, tapping her little paper concept of one with a single fingernail, painted dark blue.

“You _want_ it subtle?”

“I don’t want to scare anyone off, y’know?” she said with a shrug. “The place is perfect just for hanging out and stargazing. That’s what I was there for the first few times I went anyway, so I want it subtle, but definitely there.”

Gold gave the drawing another serious look, and well, at least the wonky thing didn’t overpower the composition over there in that corner where it was hovering. It wasn’t exactly War of the Worlds.

“I’d say it’s subtle enough.”

“I tried to get it sort of… less two dimensional and weird than that, but I was only making things worse, so…”

Gold cocked his head to the side a bit and squinted at the UFO. Looked like a dinged up interstellar dog food bowl.

“I see what you mean. But you’d just have to erase that line over there, and then draw -”

“Wait!”

Gold looked up, eyebrows knitted together questioningly. Her eyes were wide as she began to rifle through her bag for something. A pencil, as it turned out. She held it out with a quick nod, at which point the nature of her request sank in.

“Oh, no no no,” he protested, making his voice deep and shaking his head. “I’m no artist.”

Her shoulders began to slump with the dangerous beginnings of disappointment, but she didn’t lower her yellow pencil, still aimed vaguely at his throat like a dagger (with intentions less murderous) and her eyes were still wide as could be.

“But you said you could make it a bit more three dimensional!”

Gold tilted his head back a bit and gave the girl a slightly narrow-eyed look, because that wasn’t _quite_ what he’d said, now was it? Her wee poker face began to crumble when she realized he was onto her, revealing a hint of a playful grin underneath.

“Please?”

Ugh. An actual knife to the throat would have been less effective than that sound she made and the teensy little head tilt that came with it. With a heavy sigh, Gold plucked the pencil from between her fingers and tried not to smile back when her grin burst through like a solar flare.

“There’s an eraser on there,” she said, excitedly drumming her fingers on the edge of the counter. “You can start from scratch if you think that’s best.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

She joined him behind the counter with a few bouncy steps, as surely as if he’d invited her there. He made more space for her, scooting to the side to let her see. When she settled in her new spot, elbows on the counter, Gold bent over the drawing and plastered on a serious face. It was a simple enough task, but he took his time to do it properly. He always did.

God, but she was standing so _close_. Along with that deep, sweet burst of roses in her perfume there was a faint grassy smell of cut flower stems about her. Glancing at her fingers tapping silently on the counter, Gold could spot a bit of yellowish green staining them, too. He looked back at the drawing and allowed himself a secret smile from behind the curtain of hair that felicitously fell to shield his face.

“Flowers today?” he asked offhandedly.

“How d’you figure that out?” she asked him with the air of a participant in a magic trick.

He shrugged, let his smile grow into a smirk. “I’m very good. That’s how.”

Not fooled in the slightest, the girl scrunched up her nose. “Do I smell like flowers or something?”

It would be uncouth, wouldn’t it? To admit to actively smelling her? So, Gold lifted the pencil from the piece of paper and very gently tapped her thumb with the eraser on the other end.

“You have a literal green thumb, Ms French,” he explained.

“Oh!” A beat of silence, her fingers folding over the spot he’d touched, and then a giggly, “Caught green-handed, huh?”

With a silent chuckle, Gold returned to his task, and Ms French returned to spectating, gluing her eyes to his fingers as he drew. If he wasn’t so confident that he could fix this for her, he would be trembling under the weight of such scrutiny. She never once lifted her eyes from his hand and the movements he was making. So quiet that he could hear her breathing.

And then, out of nowhere:

“Why don’t you call me Belle?”

 _Ah._ His mouth had fallen ever so slightly open, but he was sure she couldn’t see with his hair hanging down as it was. He feigned complete concentration on what his fingers were doing, pretended he was deeply engrossed. Because that, at least, might buy him some time.

“Are you worried you’ll have to tell me your first name if you use mine?”

His stomach tightened, and so did his grip on her pencil. The very tip of it snapped off as a result. Not in a cartoonish way. It was just the tiniest fragment, went flying over the counter and instantly out of sight. He didn’t think she’d even noticed.

“It’s not on your business cards,” she continued. Her softly textured voice had a thread of determination woven through it that both soothed and impressed him. “It’s not written anywhere on the shop signs either.”

Gold turned his head to face her and found her watching him carefully. He had plenty else written elsewhere, apparently. Like all over his face.

“Correct. It’s not.”

She smiled, but it was a contained smile. The smile of a woman whose parents taught her not to gloat.

“I had quite a bit of trouble googling it, too. Until I found it.”

Gold sighed and turned back to the flyer. Ah, Google. A mighty tool and a powerful enemy. Bracing himself to hear his own name, he swallowed an unpleasant ball of tension in his throat and began to work on the third and last thruster of her new and improved UFO.

“Is it really -”

“Yes, that’s my legal name, unfortunately.”

“You don’t like it?” she asked, and Gold wasn’t looking but he was willing to bet she was frowning. Perhaps pouting.

“Can you imagine what sort of pawn shop people would think it was if I had it plastered on the front?”

She didn’t fire back right away. It gave him time to evaluate his work in progress. The UFO did look a bit more three dimensional now, at an angle with the bottom facing the viewer somewhat. She was going to go over it with a marker though, wasn’t she? Were the lines too finicky for that? Was she still staring? Was she going to call him what she wanted, now? Would that really be such a terrible thing?

“Alright, so maybe it’s not the classiest name, but it’s not that bad. _I_ like it. What’s in a name, anyway?”

He huffed darkly and quietly mumbled, “Said the woman named Belle.”

Gold felt a bit as if he’d missed a step on the staircase going down when he realized what he’d said, but he wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t as if he’d thrown the word ‘aptly’ in there, and she was no mindreader. It didn’t mean anything.

“Well, alright. I get it. That’s fine.”

Was it? He looked at her peacefully smiling face and wondered if it was alright to feel relieved now.

“I’ll think of something else to call you, then.”

“Gold’ll do just fine,” he told her, and then he lowered his head so he could put the finishing touches to the final thruster.

One stroke, two strokes, and there. Done. He put the pencil down and pushed himself up from the counter with a pleased smile. He was glad he hadn’t messed up her efforts, but then as he slid the paper closer to her for her to appraise, he was suddenly struck with just a slight case of nerves.

He held his breath when Ms French straightened herself and picked up her drawing, eager eyes locking right onto his contribution. Only when her face lit up and she gasped a soft, “Brilliant!” did Gold feel himself relax somewhat.

“Is it alright?” A fragile, uncertain smile began to sneak its way onto his face.

“Yeah!” she crowed, shooting him a joyous grin over the edge of the paper before returning her attention to it. “Oh wow, this is heaps better. Thank you so much.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” growled Gold, smiling down at his shoes and digging his fingers uselessly and nervously into the hair at the back of his head.

“It’s not nothing. I love it. Thank you.”

It was ridiculous. It was stupid. It really was nothing. But as he watched her beam at his little effort - she looked so _happy_ \- he felt his chest swell with pride. And it was nice, feeling useful. It was a warm feeling. He’d missed it.

“Hey, I could show you the final version if you come out tomorrow night. The weather should be good.” She paused to roll her eyes at herself with a lopsided smirk. “Well, freezing, but you know.”

As she waited for an answer, Ms French opened her satchel again and very gingerly slipped the flyer in between the pages of a rather large book for safekeeping. Her smile was patient, and her movements were slow and steady. She was very generous with her time, which was a good thing, because Gold had absolutely no idea why he couldn’t seem to stop wasting it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll stop by, if you like.”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “I like.”

And with that, and another thank you, and another radiant grin, Ms French made the bell above his door chime once more. She back to her flowers, he left to stand there with a warm face.

He’d have to check the thermostat.


	8. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A late night confession and some broken glass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank you guys enough for sticking around and reading my stuff, not to mention the kudos and comments. It really means more to me than I can express.
> 
> <3

A few silvery wisps of clouds drifted past the waning moon, like thin slivers of cotton. The others had already said their goodbyes, but Gold and Ms French hadn’t yet finished their discussion, nor were they quite done with the tiny bit of whiskey she’d poured into their cups. There were more than seven billion people in the world, but now that everyone else had left the field for warmer destinations, the moon seemed to shine down on them and them alone.

She’d confiscated the whiskey from some ambitious teenagers with a rather decent booze budget, she told him. They weren’t having very much of it, but he still sipped it very slowly, barely. He had the drive back to consider, after all. The biggest factor in this decision, however, was the fact that he was too focused on her passionate words and fiery eyes to remember to drink. Still, there was just enough in their cups to make him speak more readily and to redden her face like a paler vision of Mars.

“I just don’t see it happening any time soon,” he told her, swirling the little bit of liquid in his cup around and around absently.

“But literally all you’d need is a star, a sun like ours - and there’s _tons_ of those out there - and a rocky surface, and water and… and maybe not even that. Maybe there’s gas-based life out there, or something else that we haven’t even thought of yet. Those are all reasonable theories, you know. I’m not making this up.”

“I’m not saying that at all,” he assured her, holding up his hand in a gesture of partial surrender. “It’s just that the hypothetical lifeforms you’re describing wouldn’t be building spaceships at the moment.”

“Well, no, but that doesn’t matter!” she argued, her voice getting steadily louder with excitement as she wriggled to sit up straighter in her chair. “If we find life on any of the ice moons, it won’t matter how basic it is. If there’s other life in our solar system, then who knows what’s been going on in more distant parts of the universe, and for how long? Who knows what’s been developing out there?”

“Ah, but you’re talking about distance and time as if they were trivial matters, which I think you’ll agree they’re not. If any alien civilization had the technological capacity to overcome those obstacles, wouldn’t they have made contact by now? It’s not as if no-one’s been trying to reach out on our side.”

Ms French took a deep breath but stalled just as Gold thought her rebuttal would arrive. She blinked a few times, furrowed her brow and gave it some more thought.

“Maybe they’re waiting for the right moment,” she said, quieter but just as decided. “Or maybe they’re developing the means to contact us, or maybe they’re sending different kinds of messages we haven’t learned how to pick up yet. Maybe they know we’re here but they’re hesitant to actually make contact for some reason.”

Gold raised his brow, unsure how to respond to her considerable collection of maybes. When it became clear to her that he had no immediate counter, Ms French smiled warmly and kindly let him skip his turn.

“I just think that it would be wrong to claim that we’re alone in the universe. It’s too big for that, it’s… It’s _endlessly_ big, and I reckon it’s just a matter of time before we find life out there. There’s no knowing when it’ll happen, but it will. I know that for sure.”

She nodded her head with an air of authority to punctuate her last sentence, and Gold wondered how she could possibly be so comfortable with that amount of uncertainty in her life. Difficult to grasp that all of this was enough to keep her sitting here so faithfully like a hopeful teenager waiting for her crush to ring the landline. (Before the advent of cellphones, of course.)

“It might not be outside the realm of possibility,” Gold granted, watching her lips curl up into a bigger smile at this admission. “But…”

With a sigh, he let his thoughts and her lips distract him for a moment. Actually — did she have a boyfriend who sat at home while she sat out here? A girlfriend? Did she not have anyone? She must have. Gold might not have been capable of mustering blind belief in extraterrestrial civilizations, but he didn’t need to meet the poor sap to be convinced of the existence of someone who had been irrevocably bowled over by _her._

Perhaps that was where she went when the night skies were overcast, but… No. No, it wouldn’t make any sense that she was always here and her lover never was.

“But what?” she chirped when her patience ran out, her eyes flying all over his face like two very busy and very blue bees.

Gold cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. “But for any of that to happen in our lifetime, that to me just seems extremely unlikely.”

He didn’t know why what he’d said made her eyes light up, and he didn’t know why he was so particularly relieved either, but it did, and he was.

She leaned forward, her brow raised and her lips fighting against an excited grin to tell him, “Yeah, but that’s exactly it! Don’t you see? The difference between impossible and extremely unlikely means _everything!_ ”

“Does it?” he asked, jerking his head back in confusion.

“Mhm. If something isn’t impossible, then it’s possible.”

Slowly, Gold began to smile. And that smile grew into a grin, and that grin soon inspired him to laugh a deep belly laugh. “Well. I can’t say that’s wrong, can I?”

“Nope!” giggled Ms French, looking rather proud of herself. She flopped back in her chair with a satisfied grin. “This is so weird, though. It’s like we’re on the same page, you and I, but…”

She gestured vaguely in lieu of finishing her sentence, which was fine, because his brain had gotten stuck on _you and I_ , anyway.

“Different book?” he offered.

Ms French snorted a laugh, but after that, they fell into a comfortable silence. As she poked absently at a piece of lint on her coat, Gold twisted his cup around in his hands and thought of glasses that were half empty and half full. On a cosmological level. And it was true, wasn’t it? Well it certainly wasn’t wrong. But those weren’t the only two options in life, Gold had learned. Her black and white seemed to him remarkably colorful compared to his grayscale world. Now _that_ ought to have been impossible.

“There’s so much we don’t know,” she sighed, casting her bright blue eyes up at the universe. “Doesn't that make you want to just... jump in there?”

 _Like a swimming pool?_ thought Gold with a confused frown.

“It’s like this unfathomable ocean full of worlds and suns and endless possibility. All those planets and galaxies and… and… It drives me absolutely _mad_ sometimes, knowing that there’s so much stuff I’ll never get to see. So many other worlds I’ll never get to explore.”

There was reverence as well as wistfulness in her voice, and as Gold sat there and watched her try in vain to take in the entire universe and contain it in those bright eyes of hers, something occurred to him. He took hold of the end of that little thread of understanding and decided to give it a tentative tug.

“Would you go out there if you could?” he asked.

A quick nod, and then she smiled at him. “In a heartbeat.”

Gold smiled back. She was waiting for space to come to her, wasn’t she? For lack of an alternative.

“Wouldn’t you?”

He shook his head no.

“Well… Wouldn’t you like to know, at least? What’s out there?”

“Sure. I’d love to read about it in the paper in the comforts of my own home.”

“Hmm,” she began in a playful tone, quirking an eyebrow. “That’s not very adventurous.”

A half smirk pulled at a corner of his mouth. “Perhaps I’m not the adventurous type.”

“I don’t know,” she mewed with a shrug. “You moved all the way here from Scotland, didn’t you?”

“That’s true. I did survive the perilous journey to this bustling metropolis. It’s been harrowing. I got lost and mugged twice on my way here, in fact.”

She narrowed her eyes in response to his deadpan sarcasm. “I think you might surprise yourself one day.”

He bloody hoped not. With a noncommittal sound, Gold put his cup up to his lips and took the tiniest sip. Just enough for it to burn bitter in his mouth. Ms French followed his lead and did the same.

“Have you heard from Neal?” she asked him after a moment’s quiet.

“A text this afternoon,” said Gold, slowly smiling. “Not much, but…”

“Something.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.”

The silence that followed was not like the others. It wasn’t another conversational lull or anything quite like that. The difference was in those little testing glances she kept shooting him, and how her mouth opened and closed once or twice as if there was something she wasn’t sure she could say, or ask.

“So I… I’m actually kind of a really curious person,” she began. “But I try to mind my own business, y’know, try to be polite.”

Though Gold dreaded where she was heading with this, he met her gaze and offered a quick nod.

“And… And it doesn’t _matter_ , but I’d still really like to know what happened between you and your son.”

Well, he wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t stop his heart from clenching. And after that, after just looking at her in silence for a while, there grew a distinct feeling of defeat in his chest when he began to wonder if he had it in him to lie to her.

“Well,” he said, his stomach slowly twisting itself into a knot, “it was…”

If he didn’t tell her, then she’d… she’d imagine something. Something else. Something worse. He could see it in her face, looking steadily more concerned the longer he dallied.

“Neal…”

Could he lie? Did he want to? His throat was dry and he was ready to make an excuse and bolt for the gate, but when Ms French gave a nod to urge him on, Gold felt something else spark inside of him. Something he hadn’t felt in a while.

Might it have been courage?

“A few days before Neal ran away,” he began, turning his gaze to the neglected fire, “he got a check and a note in the mail from his mother. She hadn’t - … He was very young when she left.”

Gold took a moment to steady his breathing. Just a few seconds with his eyes closed against the dying light of the embers in front of him.

“Before he got that check, Neal thought his mother was dead. Because that’s what I told him. That’s why he ran.”

The first breath he took after those horrible words had finally left his chest was deep. The air was cool and straightened him from the hunched position he hadn’t realized he’d adopted. Feeling lighter, he pulled his shoulders back, swallowed a lump in his throat, and opened his eyes.

“I hated myself for lying to him, but -”

He words dried up and died when he looked at Ms French and found her face changed like he’d never seen it before. Her eyes had grown wide, her mouth had dropped open and her skin had paled and… 

Ah, there it was again. That sick feeling he’d forgotten about, that pang of guilt when she first offered him her help, unknowing and uncaring of what he’d done to _need_ it. He hadn’t felt that since…

God. It didn’t matter. He should never have stopped feeling it. This time, it overwhelmed him.

“Ms French,” he tried, his voice reduced to a whisper by the fluttering of her eyes and the sudden tremble in her lip. Her face slowly twisted into a look of utter incomprehension and dismay.

She only managed a choked, “H-How could -”

That was it. But it was enough. She didn’t need to finish her sentence for it to have its effect on his heart, which dropped down and fell heavy in the very center of his chest. He felt sick.

“I’m sorry, I… I have to go.”

Her voice was strained, her movements shaky as she pushed herself upright and nearly tipped her chair over in the process. Instinctively, Gold rose too.

“But please, I -”

“I have to be alone, I-I… I have to go.”

Her camping lantern nearly smashed into the corner of the table when she rushed off with small quick steps towards the trees on the other side of the field.

“Ms French!” he called after her, his voice carrying far in the cool air.

She didn’t respond. The light of the moon seemed to him very cold now. The fire was dying. The little bright dot that was her lantern shrank and shrank while he stood there, helpless, waiting for the ground to swallow him whole.

It didn’t. It should have, but it didn’t, so he took a step back. And another one. And then he turned around blinking furiously against a sudden surge of pressure behind his eyes, and he took another few steps towards the gate so he could make it to his car while his barriers still held, but…

He didn’t make it very far before he felt the need to turn around again. For one last look at the little bit of comfort he’d managed to chase out of his life.

But he couldn’t see her light anymore. Brow creased into a deep frown, Gold bit off his glove and took out his cellphone to check the time. Nearly midnight, screamed the glaring screen. It was freezing, and he would never have thought the thicket to be so dense that it could have swallowed the light of her camping lantern whole so quickly.

“Fuck,” he hissed to himself as he drew his rapidly chilling fingers through his hair, moving it back from his face.

Something began to pull at the very center of him. He’d felt it before; in his shop, watching her leave when he wasn’t quite ready to be alone again. But now there was a burning urgency to it. It turned into a sickening feeling that was scraping him hollow from the inside out.

So he moved. Towards the thicket, towards that dark strip of young trees and shrubs at the other edge of the field. And as he walked, his worry grew, because there had been something about her reaction that went beyond pure revulsion. Something else. Something visceral and panicked and…

But even if he sensed wrong. Even if there was nothing to salvage. It didn’t matter if it meant letting that broken look in her eyes wound him again. He couldn’t leave without knowing she was alright.

His toes were cold as ice, his gloveless hand losing all sensation wrapped tight around his cellphone. The screen was his makeshift flashlight - inefficient, but better than nothing. A touch of panic had taken hold of him now, and he wasted no time forcing a path through the dry shrubbery when he reached the edge of the thicket.

Keeping his balance on the uneven terrain was no easy task. His cane slipped on shallow roots and his coat kept getting caught on who-knows-what, tugging him back sharply every so often. How far could she have possibly gotten?

There was no light but that of his cellphone screen, and that barely helped the darkness. It was silent out here, too. He couldn’t even hear the constant hum of far-off traffic unless he stood perfectly still and closed his eyes as he did then in an attempt to perhaps catch the sound of her small footsteps breaking a twig underfoot, or her voice calling his name.

“Ms French!” he called out. “Can you hear me? I’ll go if you want me to, but I-I just… I have to know you’re alright.”

Suddenly, a pitiful mumble a good fifteen paces ahead: “I’m over here.”

His heart jumped with relief to hear that accent, sad though she sounded. He pointed his cellphone at the source of the sound. The light bounced back on something metallic, but that was all he could see.

“I’m coming!” he called back.

A few more stumbling steps and he could see her, finally. She was sitting on the cold ground with her legs curled underneath her, gazing forlorn at a few small shards of something reflective in the palm of her upturned hand.

Only now did Gold realize how fast his heart was pumping, how shallow his breaths were. Every muscle in his body was tense. “Are you alright? What happened?”

She raised her eyes to him. They were red. They were wet. “Yeah. I just tripped. Broke my lantern.”

He’d never heard her so quiet. Knitting his eyebrows together, Gold lowered his cellphone so as not to blind her. “Are you hurt?”

“Can you aim the light over there?” she asked, pointing behind her, ignoring his question. Or maybe she hadn’t heard it. Still, he did as she asked and painted the trees behind her with cold light. She looked over her shoulder and was silent for a second or three. “That must’ve been it,” she whispered to herself, not sounding entirely convinced.

Gold approached her as he would have a wounded doe, holding out his hand for her to take if she needed help getting up. But she didn’t notice. She only had eyes for the broken pieces of her camping lantern spread out on the ground in front of her. Two of the panels had shattered. A third one was cracked.

“That’s not glass, is it?” he asked her as he watched her toss a few shards into what remained of her lantern with her bare hands.

“Think so. “

“Let me do that.” He propped his cane up against a young tree and lowered himself to join her on the forest floor.

“No, no,” she mumbled. “It’s… it’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. His bad ankle made its objections clear with a keen sting, and a cool wetness seeped through the fabric of his trousers at his knees. He didn’t care.

“Let me. I have leather gloves. Please.”

He stared at her until her blue eyes finally fluttered up and stayed locked to his for more than just a splinter of a second. Gold raised his brow and gave an encouraging nod that she soon returned, to his indescribable relief.

“Hold this for me?”

With another little nod, she took over and lit the scene for him while he got to work. He simply tossed the pieces into the hollow of the lantern at first, but the sound of glass hitting glass and metal was too harsh in this chilling silence. Too sharp for a moment this fragile. Slowly, then. Carefully.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he tried again, sneaking a look at her face, dazed and pale.

“Sprained my ankle.”

“Are you sure you only sprained it? Can you walk?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She thought wrong. When she pushed herself up from the ground before he even had the chance to offer his help, her knees nearly buckled. She sucked in a sharp breath the cause of which Gold was all too familiar with. He had to bite his tongue not to do the same when he rushed to stand and help steady her with a hand on her elbow.

“Ignore that,” she said, shaking her head, handing him his phone back. “I can walk. It just hurts a little.”

God, she looked so meek and tired with that broken lantern hanging from her little fingers, stiff and deathly white. She was a ghost of herself. Unthinking, Gold shrugged out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders like a cape. He wasn’t sure why he did it; she was wearing her own coat and she wasn’t shivering. But it felt right, and she didn’t stop him.

“You’re sure?” he asked, retrieving his cane.

“Mhm.”

He could barely stand to see her take those first few steps on her own. She limped, grimaced, kept her eyes glued to the ground and hugged his coat tighter over her shoulders with her free hand. A little mewl of pain, poorly stifled, was the last straw. He couldn’t take any more of this. No man could.

“Belle.”

That stopped her in her unsteady tracks. The unsure look she shot him over her shoulder made his arms twitch.

“Come on,” he told her, his voice rough with exhaustion. He nudged her arm and guided it up over his shoulder, then draped his own arm delicately around her waist. “We’ve got two good legs between us. That’s all we need.”

Strange how her proximity calmed him now, when just a short while ago he was stumbling backwards and away from her in abject shame. But the silence was unbearable. He tried to focus on the sound of snapping twigs and the brush of barren shrubbery against their legs, the constant clink of broken glass. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but he wasn’t sure what for.

Belle eased herself away from him when they made it to the edge of the moonlit field. With her warmth gone, the cold finally set in. Gold caught his cheeks between his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering, looked ahead to try and spot the glow of the fire basket and was disheartened to see it had gone out completely.

Belle completed the rest of the walk on her own with a limp that was milder than the one that had made him cringe before. Perhaps it really was merely a sprain. At the fire basket, she gave him his coat back, and he thanked her for it. The look she gave him then was fleeting. Gone again before he could read the emotion behind it.

In his throat, his heart beat fast, making it difficult to speak without stammering. “About what I said… I…”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

He grabbed hold of his cane with both hands now, felt himself frown as he watched her begin to clear away the things on the little folding table. Cups, tea flask, napkins - it all went into the backpack she kept propped up against one of the table legs.

“I think I do. I upset you.”

“No, no,” she sighed, shaking her head. “It’s none of my business. I’m… I’m tired, and I… I just need to go home.”

She sounded a little less dazed now, but she still didn’t sound like he remembered her. He’d hate it if she thought less of him now. He’d hate it and he’d hate himself even more than he already did.

“Did you drive?”

“I rode my bike here.”

“Let me give you a ride home, then,” he pleaded, taking a step towards her without really knowing why. “You’re hurt. And tired, you said.”

“It’s fine. It doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“Belle, please,” sighed Gold. “If you can stand my company for just a little while longer.”

When her bright eyes found his, for a moment, he nearly recognized her again. With her lip in between her teeth, Belle sought something in his face in that peculiar way of hers he’d noticed a few times before. He hoped with every cell in his body that she would find it before he crumbled.

“That might be best, actually,” she mumbled eventually. “Thank you. I, uh… I live above the flower shop. You know where it is, right?”

“Yeah,” replied Gold, relieved beyond words to hear her string together a sentence that long. “I know.”

He tried to give her his keys so she could wait in the car while he took care of the chairs and the table, but she wasn’t having it. They cleared all of it away together with matching limps and groans, and then he led her to his car, carrying their silence and her backpack with her. She was so wee that there was room for it by her feet.

He drove slow on these dark winding roads. They saw only empty fields and dark farmhouses on their left, and barren trees with boughs hanging ominously over the road on their right. No streetlights. Just the harsh narrow glare of the car’s headlights and the softer colored lights of the dashboard inside. That was all. 

It didn’t take very long for some of the unspoken words churning in the pit of his stomach to spill.

“His mum left when he could barely speak. That’s how young he was.”

He caught her shaking her head from the corner of his eye. “Really, it’s alright. You don’t have to explain.”

“But can I? I’d like to.”

He _had_ to. Before his heart burst.

Their eyes met for a moment. She looked as if she hadn’t expected him to say that.

“Yeah. Of course.”

Gold nodded his thanks, then licked his dry lips. A deep breath to steady himself, and then:

“I wouldn’t even have known if I hadn’t gotten home early that night and caught her packing. She said she was never coming back. I didn’t believe her. I thought she’d stay in touch, for Neal’s sake at least, but…”

His voice tapered off into a sigh. His lips were already dry again.

“Milah - that’s her name. Milah didn’t call. Didn’t write. Didn’t visit. Not a word, not even a single birthday card in all those years.”

His voice was a little bit shaky at first, and he was sure she could only just make him out over the sound of the engine with how quietly he was speaking, but it became easier after those first few sentences. Easier than he imagined.

“He asked about her. He could barely pronounce the word banana with the correct number of syllables, but God, he’d ask for her every single night at first. And all I could think to say was that mum had gone away for work, or that she’d gone to see her own mum and dad. Just… normal things like that.”

Belle had been staring out of the window last he looked, but now Gold felt her eyes on him. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to look over and find out what her open face could tell him. He feared he wouldn’t be able to keep his voice steady if he did. So he kept his focus on the road instead.

“He stopped asking about her after a while. It didn’t actually take that long. I thought… I thought maybe his wee friends at school had divorced parents, or mums and dads who traveled often for work. Maybe he thought it was normal. I don’t know. I certainly didn’t mind that he’d stopped asking. But one night, he - … It was almost midnight. He came back downstairs. He was about ten, I think. And he walked into my study, and he sat down next to me on the sofa, and he just… asked me. He said, ‘My mom died, didn’t she, dad? I know she’s not away for work.’ Just like that.”

The words choked to a stop after that. It took a few seconds of swallowing over and over again to clear the strange obstruction in his throat. They were driving past houses now. Barely any lights on.

“He said it was alright to tell him the truth.”

Gold remembered how it felt so very much as if he would never be able to take another breath again when those kind words left his son’s mouth. His eyes began to sting as they did that night. His stomach churned as it should have done then.

“She never reached out. Not even when I begged her to those first few months. She wasn’t _there_. Neal barely even remembered her, and I-I thought maybe once he was older, once he had his own life, I’d… But - … It was stupid of me. I made a choice that I -”

Deep breaths. It was alright. There was no hand around his throat squeezing it shut. There were just words in his chest pushing to get out, making him stammer.

“I just had to nod,” Gold sighed. “And I told him… I said she’d gotten ill when he was very little. He didn’t cry. He didn’t say anything. He just crawled into my lap and hugged me. Belle, I didn’t think she’d _ever_ \- …”

He stopped, because despite his intentions, he’d thrown her that quick glance he’d tried so hard not to, and her eyes in that moment were nothing less than arresting. What he read in her face then wasn’t what he’d been expecting. There was no disgust. No hatred. The orange streetlights they passed bathed her face in warm colors. He wished they weren’t driving. He wished he could keep looking at her.

“My mother left me with my father,” he continued, his voice no more than a gravelly whisper. “My father left me with his parents, and they palmed me off on my great aunts. No-one ever - …”

Another wave of something overwhelming broke against the back of his throat, tightening it, choking him. He had to end it before the tears came.

“It was all I ever knew. I just wanted to spare my own boy that feeling. That’s all.”

Sleepy houses had made way for dark storefronts and the occasional lone neon sign with missing letters. Nearly there. When he risked another glance at her, he saw that her eyes were wet again. Her eyebrows knitted close together. God, he wished he could stop upsetting her.

“Kids always know, don’t they?” she murmured as he parked the car in front of the flower shop. “They don’t know what it is they know, but they know there’s something.”

Gold gave a bemused nod and watched her wipe away a tear with the sleeve of her brown coat. Slowly, her face smoothed clear of worry. She stared straight ahead for a while, shifted a little bit in her seat. There was a piece of dried leaf on her knee. He wondered if it would be too forward of him to reach over and flick it off. He wondered if she realized they’d stopped at all.

“Hey, where’s your phone?” she asked suddenly, a bit of forced pep in her voice. “I wanna show you something.”

Mystified, Gold reached for his phone in his coat pocket while she wiped away the last remaining tears from her round cheeks. Her eyes still glimmered with them, though.

“Press the home button,” she instructed, unbuckling her seatbelt so she could slide closer to him and see the screen.

Gold took a guess and pushed the only button on the front of the phone. The screen lit up.

“Okay, now swipe up.”

He tried, but nothing happened. Belle sniffled a cute little laugh that made him smile.

“No, from the bottom.”

“Oh.”

He did as he was told, and a menu popped up he’d never seen before. Gold frowned.

“Alright. What now?”

“See anything interesting?” she asked, her bright eyes flitting curiously over his face.

Gold squinted at the indecipherable icons on the screen. “Well, no, if I’m honest.”

She scooted a little closer until her arm bumped into his. “Here,” she said, pointing at one of the icons. “Tap that one.”

He did, and his steering wheel lit up so suddenly he nearly thought they were about to be rear-ended by a truck. Baffled, Gold flipped his phone around and nearly blinded himself, which made her giggle.

“Oh, it’s a torch!”

“Cool, huh?”

“Mm, that’s useful,” he agreed, raising his brow. He tapped the icon once more, and the light went out.

She made her voice very quiet again. “Should have shown you that earlier, but… Bit preoccupied, I guess.”

And just like that, the mood became fragile once more. Gold looked at her. She didn’t look away, but she did slide slowly back into her seat.

“About how I reacted back there,” she began, pausing to swallow.

“You don’t have to explain yourself either,” Gold told her, firmly but gently. “Unless you want to.”

She pulled her lip in between her teeth for a moment and looked down at her hands in her lap.

“It’s late, isn’t it?”

Gold released a breath he didn’t remember holding and nodded in understanding. He did say she didn’t have to.

“Yes. It’s very late.”

“Thank you for bringing me home.”

“It’s no bother at all.”

“Still. Thank you.”

“Don’t forget your bag,” he hurried as she opened the door and clambered out of the car.

Instead of slamming the door shut, Belle reappeared, her hand on the top of the car, her hair dangling and swaying in the freezing breeze. With a little smile that still seemed to him very brittle, she reached for her bag.

“Good night. I’ll see you.”

Yes. Brittle. But those last three words made his heart jump.

“Good night, Belle. See you.”


	9. Sore Spots/Honeybees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One morning in the flower shop, Belle explains herself over coffee. Gold comes to a long overdue conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are the greatest. Thank you so much for sticking around with me.

There was a certain peacefulness to the early hour. The sun still hung low, hazy and pearlescent through a layer of translucent milky white clouds. It was not yet March and his breath still made little puffs in the cold air as he walked, but spring seemed awfully near that morning.

The large rectangular box under his arm was the result of two restless nights and a very confusing and indecisive day in between spent wandering around various camping stores. He did find something he was truly satisfied with in the end, which was why to the casual observer, it might have seemed odd that he was taking a sort of reverse thief approach to the plan now.

There were no lights on inside the flower shop and no displays had been put out yet. Perfect. Propping his cane up against the wall, Gold bent down and deposited the box very gently next to a welcome mat decorated with all sorts of flowers he couldn’t identify. Belle would find it, he hoped, and know it was his.

But with the emotional events of their previous encounter still fresh in his mind, he wasn’t prepared for her to find it _quite_ so soon. The creaky shop door startled him when it opened with no warning, and he suddenly found himself staring at a pair of fuzzy blue slippers.

“Oh! Good morning,” said the owner of the slippers.

Replacing the defeated look on his face with a guilty smile before she could spot it, Gold rose and replied, “Good morning. You’re ah, you’re up early.”

“And you’re sleepwalking, Mr Pot?”

The kettle in pale pink flannel pajamas (wasn’t she _freezing?_ ) grinned at her own joke until her gaze fell on the box by her feet.

“What’s that?” she asked, nose crinkling.

Gold reached down to lift the box again, held it up for her see.

“Is that… Is that a new camping lantern?”

“I was thinking you’re probably not going to get much use out of the old one,” he explained, offering a faint smile.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, giving him a look he didn’t really know how to read. It was a very gentle look, though. He could read that much.

“You really didn't have to do that.”

Gold shrugged, cast his eyes down at the top of the box. “That’s debatable, I think.”

“We could do that over the coffee I just made.”

Gold’s brain stuttered. There was Belle’s questioning intonation, but then there was her _other_ questioning intonation, and some part of him registered the rising pattern of her voice in that moment as the kind that required some sort of response on his part. Only, he recognized it a little late. As a result of this, he looked awfully stupid for a few seconds, mouth falling slowly open while his feet remained firmly glued to the ground.

“Unless you wanna try and sneak off after all,” she added, showing a little smile.

“Yeah. I mean, no. I’d… like some coffee, I mean. Thank you.”

Gold followed her inside where it wasn’t that much warmer. He’d never bought flowers here. He couldn’t remember the last time he bought any flowers anywhere, actually. Wildflower seed packets for Neal to sprinkle around the garden when he was about seven, yes, but that barely compared. That stuff ended up de facto birdseed, anyway.

“Very few flowers for a flower shop,” Gold thought aloud.

“They’re still in the coolers!”

Gold raised an eyebrow. The florist business was another thing to add to his list of things he knew nothing about, then. Growing longer and longer the older he got, that list.

“How’s your ankle?” he asked, not noticing much of a limp as she walked.

“Nearly all better!”

The relief of hearing that made him smile behind her back. He followed her behind the counter and through a rustling green bead curtain that led to a smaller, darker, colder room lined with the coolers she’d mentioned. They hummed. Some were empty, some contained colorful flowers of all sorts. Out of two doors in the room, she opened the one that led to the back of the building. A pleasant light came flooding out.

“Just through here.”

It was a sunroom of sorts. Or well, an approximation of one. It was an obvious DIY job, but the result, Gold thought, was charming. There was a little kitchenette to his left, and from it drifted the promising smell of freshly brewed coffee. A small beige sofa was pushed up against the brick wall to his right and there was a desk with a fairly obsolete looking desktop computer nearby. Under the wall of windows up ahead and bathed in those early morning rays was a set of dark green wooden garden furniture that looked very inviting.

“Make yourself at home, I’ll be right back.”

Gold placed the camping lantern in the middle of the round table and took care not to let the chair legs scrape on the dark red floor tiles as he took a seat. It was much warmer in here. While Belle busied herself in the kitchen, he watched a lone pigeon land on the roof of the weathered looking garden shed out in the courtyard beyond the window. It cooed a few times, then flew off again.

“Right! Here we are.”

She came back carrying two generous mugs of coffee, a hastily filled bowl of sugar cubes and an entire carton of milk on a plastic serving tray with a fading floral pattern on it. Gold smiled at the curious sight.

“I, ah, don’t have any cream,” she explained, an embarrassed smile making her lips twitch. “Or anything to put the milk in.”

“That’s alright.”

She took the chair next to his at the table and handed him a mug. He thanked her quietly and cupped it in his hands, sliding it a little closer. Warm. Getting warmer now. There were slightly paler pink clouds on her pale pink pajamas, Gold noticed. He hadn’t seen her in so few layers before. His eyes drifted to her collarbone for just a split second, but then he got a hold of himself and looked briskly away before his gaze drifted lower.

Strange. She seemed totally at ease in her sleeping clothes, and he had never felt so uncomfortable in his three piece suit before. Clearing his throat, Gold quickly shrugged out of his coat without getting up, letting the cumbersome thing fall back over the chair.

“I can’t believe you went and got me another lantern,” she said, pulling the box into her lap for inspection. “This is… It’s too kind of you.”

“There’s a night light function, should give you some warmer light if you’re just reading,” he told her, hoping he wasn’t accidentally reciting the text on the box from memory. “You know, amber. Less harsh.”

She raised her brow and mouthed a pleasantly surprised _oh_ that made him change his mind about taking a sip just as he lifted his mug.

“And there’s a solar panel on top in case you run out of charge, but it also has a built in rechargeable battery that should do fine. Just in case the charger ever breaks, I also -” He reached back to dig his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the pack of batteries he’d bought. He carefully slid it over the table. “ - got you these. It takes these too.”

A second of silence passed, and then she put on a little smile that made his neck grow warm, turned the box around in her lap and tapped the words _batteries included_ emblazoned boldly at the top. Gold’s eyes flew wide open. How the hell did he manage to miss that horrid neon green font?

“You, uh, you can never have too many batteries, though,” he muttered into his mug, only just managing not to cringe at his oversight.

“It’s too much,” she said softly. “You know I can’t accept this.”

This was exactly why he would have preferred to just leave it on her doorstep. Belle’s arms had slowly snaked around the box even as she shook her head, however. A good sign, surely?

“Please. I insist. I’ll make a run for the door before you can hand it back to me if that’s what it takes. Please keep it.”

Her brow folded into a mild frown. “But you really didn’t have to do this. You’re not the klutz who fell flat on her arse and smashed the old one against a tree.”

“I sent the klutz running into the woods.”

Her eyes got just a little bigger, making Gold’s heart skip a terrifying beat and his eyes retreat to the safer sight of his coffee for a moment. “Sorry,” he murmured, not really knowing why.

She broke into a sudden smile and waved his apology away. “No, no. That’s literally what I did.”

Her smile became more fragile and finally flickered out as she put the box back on the table, sliding it safely to the other side.

“I’d like to explain why I reacted that way,” she said, pouring a cloud of milk into her coffee.

Gold opened his mouth to tell her it was alright, but -

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”

His shoulders slumped again, and he gave a nod, his head heavy with both curiosity and concern. What he saw in her eyes that night - once when they were full of horror and once when they were tired and defeated and red - had shaken him.

“It did shock me, what you said. But it… It wasn’t what upset me. It’s just that my mum died when I was young, so I guess I… sort of…”

Her voice grew thinner and then just stopped. She’d been looking him in the eyes, but now her gaze grew glassy and wandered down to a point somewhere in the middle of his chest. He wished he knew what to say, but his tongue was a useless slab of meat in his mouth and all of his words had turned to dust. His fingers wanted to reach for hers, but he kept his hands tight around his mug, hot though it was.

“So when you told me what happened,” she continued, blinking out of her distant stare, “that was all I could think about. My dad couldn’t tell me. He could barely speak at all. My gran came over and told me in the end.”

Her voice was deep, quiet, textured. She paused a lot, because there were things she wasn’t saying. When. How. Why. But they didn’t matter. She didn’t need him to know any of that. All she needed him to know was that his craven lie was her truth, a realization that weighed heavy in his chest and made a desert of his mouth.

“And what you said at the fire — I mean, you were a bit straight to the point. It sounded so cold. Not like how you explained it in the car.”

She finally looked at him again and began to stir a slow whirlpool into her coffee. As her teaspoon clinked against the ceramic, Gold swallowed a tight knot of feelings and admitted, “Nerves.”

Belle nodded her acknowledgement, stabbed gingerly at the crumbling remains of a sugar cube dissolving on the bottom of her mug.

“I was so upset that I just assumed the worst of you, and that’s not like me at all.”

“I would have understood if you’d kept on thinking of me that way.”

She looked up at him with wide, confused eyes and faintly shook her head. “Why would I do that? You’re not a bad person just cause you made a difficult choice.”

Gold wanted to tell her he wasn’t a very great person either, but the look of innocent incomprehension in her eyes had startled him with its sincerity, so he opted for silence instead.

“I can’t believe I ran off like that, actually,” she murmured, looking down at her fingers as she slowly twisted her mug around.

“People have sore spots. I… elbowed you in yours, and I’m sorry for that.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“But I still -”

“You didn’t mean to, and you came after me,” she told him firmly. There was a stern look on her face for all of two seconds until she softened, lowered her voice to a deep mumble and joked, “ _And_ my drama. I’m glad I tripped so you could catch up.”

Gold let out a surprised chuckle that made some of the tension in his body dissipate. It would be a good thing to stop growing fond of people who could outrun him, though.

(Ah. Wait. Sounded a bit menacing that, didn’t it?)

But was that it, then? Was that the end of the heavy mood and the soft, mournful voices? Belle moved through her moods so effortlessly, and he envied and admired her for it. He knew he would be thinking of her story when he couldn’t get to sleep tonight. He knew it would haunt him.

“I mean it, though. It meant a lot that you came and found me.”

“You didn’t need me to,” he muttered, dismissing her praise with a wave of his hand.

“Well, no,” she said, drawing out that last vowel, shimmying up straighter in her chair, “but it was really sweet of you. And then you try and leave this on my doorstep without telling me! Did you ever think maybe I’d like to have a chance to thank you, hm?”

“I thought you’d only make me lug it back.” He paused to put on an injured, pleading look. “You’re not, are you?”

It could have been a convincing look of serious doubt if her lips hadn’t already shown him her answer. Like a cheerful little pup that hadn’t figured out how to stop wagging its tail yet, Belle wasn’t very good at hiding her smiles.

“No, I’m not,” she said, letting her grateful smile take over completely. “It’s awesome, and I’m keeping it. Thank you.”

Victorious (and utterly charmed by her choice of words), Gold took a large, celebratory sip of his bitter coffee and wondered where her mood would take their conversation next.

She took a smaller sip from her own far more sugary concoction, gave him an examining look and asked, “So why are you up? Your shop doesn’t open for a while yet, right?”

“I just woke up too early.” He’d even managed to make himself a proper egg breakfast and he still found himself drowning in time. “Couldn’t get back to sleep.”

“Oh, that’s so annoying,” she groaned sympathetically, her head lolling back clumsily.

“What about you? Do you always have to get up this early?”

“No, not always. Mostly on delivery days. Not today, though; I couldn’t get back to sleep either. I thought I’d check on orders, but then I noticed someone _lurking_ out front.”

Gold hid his embarrassed smile behind his mug and glanced out of the window to avoid the cause of it. Those eyes of hers were too much sometimes.

“I still have to get up early though, I guess. There’s enough to do. Cleaning the buckets, putting the flowers out, misting them, cutting stems. Things like that.”

Impressed but mildly concerned, Gold raised his brow. What on earth did she put in this coffee of hers for her to look so completely rested, then?

“Do you ever get enough sleep?”

She wrinkled her forehead, indicating she didn’t understand.

“To be out all night is one thing,” Gold clarified, “but to get up at the crack of dawn the morning after — How do you manage?”

“Well I never stay up _all_ night,” she explained, playfully rolling her eyes. “And I don’t always end up going out to the field. Plus, I’m a big fan of afternoon naps, and I get to sleep in on library days.”

For an unguarded moment, Gold quietly pictured her collapsing on top of white sheets and curling up in a patch of golden afternoon sunlight, bright blue eyes blinking slowly shut in repose. He would have been content just sitting there with that mental painting, sipping his coffee as she talked about anything at all, but then she smiled at him in that way that made him suspect she could stare her way into his thoughts via his eyes, and something in his stomach fluttered in alarm.

“So, ah,” he began, trying not to stammer, “do you enjoy the work?”

Belle sank down an inch or two in her chair, staring out of the window over the rim of her mug, taking another sip. “Yeah,” she sighed thoughtfully after swallowing her mouthful. “Sure. I don’t mind taking care of the flowers, even if it is hard work. My dad takes care of all the logistics and the finance stuff, and it’s nice not to have to bother with that.”

“Do you live here with your father?”

“No!” she cried out with a burst of laughter crinkling her nose. “No, I rent the space from him for cheap. I’d go crazy if I had to live here with him. I mean, I love him, but y’know…” Instead of finishing her sentence, she made an endearingly goofy face that made him smile. “I’m a bit too old for that, anyway.”

Gold mouthed an _oh_ , wished terribly that she would just elaborate for a moment. Because he couldn’t just flat out ask her how old she was, could he? He wasn’t raised in a bloody barn. (He wasn’t raised in anything more impressive than that either, but that was beside the point.)

She inched closer to the edge of her chair and leaned towards him a little, lifting an eyebrow mysteriously. “My least favorite part about the job is also my favorite, actually.”

Gold didn’t mind chasing after that dangling carrot one bit. He sat back, crossed his bad leg over the other and asked her, “How does that work, then?”

“Well, flowers are perishables, so we’ll often have to throw out a bunch of flowers even though there’s nothing really wrong with them yet. Just cause the stems have started to wilt or something. You can’t sell those, so you have to throw them out, and that’s really painful, but - …”

She paused and softened her voice to a pantomime whisper, leaned in a little closer and confessed, “I just take them up to the flat with me. Free flowers.”

Slowly, Gold’s smile turned into a smirk. “Isn’t that theft, technically?”

“I don’t even take them out of the building!” she gasped, indignant as she jerked all the way back in her chair again.

Her insult was largely faked for comedic effect, but not entirely. Though she was grinning and her eyes sparkled with mirth, Gold sensed a hint of genuine hurt at the mere suggestion that there was a single criminal bone in her body. He was immensely tickled upon noticing this.

“Ahh, well, I don’t know about that,” he lilted, shaking his head from side to side in exaggerated skepticism. “Would that hold up in court, d’you think?”

She twigged fairly quick that he was teasing. “So are you gonna tell on me?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow, lips twitching to burst into a grin.

“Oh, no,” he said, making his voice deep and putting on a serious face. “I don’t think it’d be wise to cross the infamous Storybrooke Flower Thief.”

Her poor attempt at a mean glare _poofed_ when she erupted into giggles. Gold laughed softly into his mug, then gulped down the last of his coffee. God, but she was gorgeous when she laughed. Laughter made her eyes light up and her face catch color. Her cheeks were almost as pink as her pajamas now. He’d better leave before he zeroed in on and identified that glowing feeling in his chest. Feelings were inconvenient enough without getting words involved. Words gave form and power. Words made things real and action possible. Words made a mess.

“I should get going." He put his empty mug down on the table with a hollow _clunk_.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, I should get ready for work too, I guess.”

“Thank you for the coffee,” he said, pushing back his chair and standing.

Before he could reach for his coat, Belle had hopped up and stepped into his personal space and stopped his heart in his chest. In that split second before everything slotted blissfully into place, Gold thought he must have been… Oh, maybe… standing terribly in her way, or… or _something_ …

But then she looped her arms around his neck and hugged him, and every sensical thought in his brain shattered into a million shiny pieces. He hesitated for just one second, but then his arms flew up to reciprocate and he splayed his hands against her back. When he did, she tightened her arms around his neck, pulled herself even closer so her entire body was pressed flush against his. Gold clenched his eyes shut, forbade himself to pull her any closer, barely remembered to breathe with only the greatest of efforts.

She was just so extraordinarily, so unbelievably warm. She was the warmest thing he’d felt in ages, and it felt like she’d just rolled out of her bed and into his arms mere seconds ago - a thought that made him feel _homesick_ for her somehow. Her hair was soft as rose petals against the side of his face and smelled so sweet his mind was flooded with images of white daisies, honeybees, sunscreen and golden light on a summer afternoon.

… Oh.

Oh no.

Belle dropped back down to her heels again and released him from her embrace. He tried to return her little smile without looking as utterly ruined as he’d only just realized he was, but his guts were twisting and his heart was racing and he wasn’t even sure if he remembered _how_.

“Thank you again,” she said, motioning towards her new camping lantern. “I’m gonna find a way to return the favor.”

Gold nodded — not because he agreed that she should, but because he literally could not dredge the mires of his helpless brain for a single thing that wouldn’t give him away in an instant.

Belle didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. She led his suddenly mute self to the shop door where he just about managed a trite, “Have a nice day,” that she sweetly returned, and then he was off.

He walked. Just walked, like a zombie with his eyes barely blinking and his lips parted with the remnants of shock. Where to? No clue. Home or the shop was statistically likely. Did it matter? The sun was out. The cold wind made a playground of his hair and stung his eyes.

His belly was full of honeybees, and he was in terrible, wonderful trouble.


	10. Flaws/Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Belle finds a way to repay Gold for the brand new camping lantern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Thanks for sticking around, first of all. I've been going through some changes that make it very difficult for me to write the same way I used to. Writing this silly stuff is very important to me. Your comments make me so happy. I'm trying very hard to adjust to these changes and I hope it works out, but I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm not abandoning this story. Thank you. <3
> 
> Plot some time soon. Promise.

Oh, he was just too old to be feeling like this. He would have been too old for it a decade ago. Unless time started ticking backwards - for him and no-one but him - the situation would only be getting more pitiful, too.

Belle had forgotten her pencil on his counter a while ago, and he had likewise forgotten to return it. It scratched a rhythm on the small notepad in his left hand as he wrote.

  * _Too young_



He was too old, and he had priorities. One in particular trumped all others, but Neal had run off to God-knows-where and left him with far too much time on his hands to daydream about a woman with the most striking eyes falling asleep in a room full of imperfect flowers.

  * _Distracting_



It should never have gotten to this point, but he’d met her when his skin was thinnest and she’d just soaked right through. She asked questions -

  * _Nosy_



\- she offered suggestions, she spoke away the silence and before he knew it she’d filled his head with glimmering galaxies blossoming in unfathomable black depths.

  * _Overwhelming_



He could think of only one minor consolation: She didn’t seem to notice the effect she was beginning to have on him. She wouldn’t have been so comfortable with him otherwise. (Her warm arms around his neck, her hair silky against his cheek, the soft curves of her chest against his.) If he could just get a hold of himself and stop the stammering at least, then she might never catch on.

  * _Naive_



But Belle French was not a fool, and he was a shambles these days. Would it not be wiser to nudge her out of his life before he tripped up and made a fool of himself? With her feet so far off the ground her head was in a different layer of the atmosphere entirely, Gold doubted she would take much notice anyway.

  * _Ran_



A deep, loud and particularly unwelcome, “Uh, hello?” made him look up from his notepad at the man standing on the other side of the counter. He had a dark beard and wild eyes, and no apparent desire to keep his voice down.

“You finished?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” he replied, putting the notepad facedown on the counter. _About three minutes ago_.

“So what are you giving me for it?”

Gold cast another cursory look at the object in front of him. The lamp was in a very admirable state, admittedly. Someone who cared might be able to restore it. But he didn’t much like the look of it personally, and that, along with the man’s presumptuous tone, negatively affected his willingness to pay for it.

“Fifteen dollars.”

“Excuse me?” the man spat, jerking back in dismay. “I need at least thirty for this! This helmet lamp is a valuable piece of local mining history!”

He narrowed his eyes to a glare and tilted his head back a touch so he could quite literally look down his nose at his shouty customer. “This is an antiques shop. Not a museum. Twelve dollars.”

“Are you crazy? Didn’t you say fifteen just a few seconds ago?”

Wholly unimpressed by the man’s bluster but getting steadily more annoyed, Gold straightened his back and coolly replied, “Would you like to stick around for a few seconds longer and see what -”

Just then, the bell above the door chimed an interruption. In came a familiar pair of blue eyes, smiling at him over a bundle of white and yellow flowers, and a change came over him like a magic spell. The mere sight of her mellowed his rock hard shoulders and smoothed every bit of frustration and impatience from his face until he was practically slack-jawed.

“Belle,” he said softly. “Belle, hey.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot his customer giving him a puzzling look that made him realize he probably shouldn’t have said her name more than once. Gold didn’t care one bit though, because Belle was stretching her neck so she could mouth a “Hiya!” at him over her flowers, and that conjured up a smile on his face. She kept her distance, clearly meaning to wait for him to finish this dreadful business.

When he turned back to the man to send him on his way, however, he found him staring at Belle over his shoulder and humming an alarming little laugh. A laugh that Gold recognized as the laugh of a schemer. 

“Sold!” he proclaimed, grinning as he slapped his hand down on the counter. “I can’t believe you’re giving me thirty-five dollars for this beaut. That’s fantastic.”

Gold screwed up his face in a combination of shock and confusion and muttered a gruff, “What?”

“Thirty-five bucks, like we agreed!” He turned towards Belle again and told her, “Now my dog can finally get the surgery she needs. Isn’t this guy great?”

_What fucking dog?_

“Aw!” Belle cooed. “That’s wonderful!”

_Oh._

It took less than a second for insult rear its head once Gold understood the little trick being played on him. His eyes darkened as control slipped silently from his grasp. It was too abrupt a change. It left him dangerously empty save for something dark gnawing at his ribcage, clawing its way up and threatening to take the shape of some very brusque words, but -

Gold swallowed. She was standing _right there_ , looking so bright and content despite the chilly grey weather outside, so pleased for this imaginary dog, so very…

He couldn’t.

“Best of luck with that,” he said, forcing a smile.

With brisk movements to mask his defeat, Gold opened the register and counted out those preposterous thirty-five dollars, only to have them snatched out of his hand more or less immediately by his least favorite customer in the world. Didn’t feel like sticking around, did he? Good. Smart.

“Lassie’s going to be just fine,” were his dramatic parting words as he grinned and waved at a sympathetic looking Belle on his way out.

While she was distracted by a round of celebratory cackling outside, Gold swallowed his shame and banished every last sign of it from his face, taking a deep, steadying breath. It was alright. In fact, it was almost funny. Perhaps he’d laugh about it one day, after he’d gotten rid of the useless thing, that glaring reminder of his failure today. No matter. He would just have to mark it up sky high and sell it to an unsuspecting foreigner come tourist season. For now, the shelf behind him would do.

“Lassie!” Belle laughed. “That’s not very original, huh?”

“Yes, it’s… almost unbelievable.”

Still craning her neck to grin at him over her flowers, she made her way over to the counter, the white pompom on her sky blue hat bobbing to and fro with every step. With a sudden jolt of panic, Gold noticed the notebook in front of him. He swept it off the counter and into an open drawer which he closed with a firm nudge of the hip.

“So, what’s this then?” He nodded at the bouquet in her arms.

“Ah, well.” She placed the vase on his counter and began to point out flowers. “Those are oxeye daisies, that’s mimosa, those are roses - but I’m sure you knew that - and that big transparent thing is a vase.”

Gold was too baffled to remark upon her twinkly-eyed bit of cheek there (appreciate it though he did) but her anticipatory grin prodded him into blurting, “A birthday party, and not a funeral, I hope?”

“Neither - they’re for you!” Her laughter made the skin around her eyes crinkle. “For the camping lantern.”

Gold’s eyes grew wide as the daisies. “These are for me?”

“Don’t they brighten the place up?”

“I…”

Slack-jawed for the second time since she’d walked through the door, Gold looked helplessly down at the white and yellow flowers arranged very thoughtfully in their simple glass container. She was giving him flowers? No-one had ever given him any flowers, ever, in his entire life. What was the protocol, here? Did he have to hold them? Sniff them? They were already in a vase, so he didn’t even have that excuse to disappear into the back room for a minute to take care of that and regroup.

Her excited little, “What do you think?” made him snap his head up.

Oh. Right. Fuck. _Compliment_ the flowers. Yes. “Th-They’re, ah - They’re lovely. Very… Very beautifully arranged.”

“Not nearly worth as much as the lantern, I know,” she said softly, tilting her head a bit to the side, very gently touching a single petal on a yellow rose with the tip of her finger, “but I reckon if you include labor costs, it might get pretty close.”

Still clueless, Gold felt his face fold into a frown. “Labor?”

“Mhm. I’m gonna come check on them every day.”

He knew he was starting to sound like a particularly dense parrot, but, “Check on them?”

“Yup.” She tilted her chin up proudly, beaming at him. “With my help, these are going to be healthy and happy for a _very_ long time.”

“Ah, but… Aren’t they already dead, in a sense? No?”

“Maybe if I leave their fate in the hands of an amateur,” Belle replied in a deep, teasing voice, giving him as disapproving a look as she could.

“Hey now,” Gold piped up in feigned injury. “I’d top up the water once in a while. Isn’t that enough?”

She gasped so sharply he very nearly worried he’d said ‘gasoline’ instead of ‘water’ and made the most most endearing face of offense Gold had ever witnessed. Her bright blue eyes were big as could be and her mouth was perfectly round in shock. Her consternation - played up only a tiny bit, he could tell - charmed him so utterly and unexpectedly he couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. He felt very light all of the sudden, a bubbly and radiant feeling that pushed the morning’s frustrations firmly out of his mind.

“Sorry!” he chuckled, lifting his hands in surrender as Belle shook her head and tutted. “So there’s more to it than that. Understood.”

She shot him a quick playful glance to make sure he was paying attention, and then brought her face closer to the flowers to sweetly murmur, “Don’t worry guys. I’ll be back tomorrow,” and in doing so squeezed Gold’s heart to a warm, useless pulp in his chest.

_Oh, dear God,_ Gold thought to himself, his laughter dying on his tongue. Talking to flowers, now? If she planned on doing that on a daily basis until every last petal had twirled its way down to the floorboards, then his fate was sealed. He could sit in his lonely house and think of ways to twist her quirks into flaws all night long, but what was the use if she’d be in here every day to coo at the daisies?

With a cold shiver of shame, Gold remembered the list in the drawer, and he swallowed a knot in his throat. His fingers itched to tear it into a million pieces, or better yet: to burn it until there was nothing left of it but ashes and smoke.

“You don’t mind if I do that, do you?” she asked quite suddenly, reading something in his face he didn’t mean for her to see, her brow furrowing. “Cause I can just tell you how to take care of them, too.”

Gold was startled by the question, this unexpected opportunity to turn down her very sweet but possibly torturous offer. He licked his lips nervously and prepared his most apologetic smile to accompany his demurral, but then he paused. Breathed. Thought.

Why was he acting like a shivering, terrified terrier, exactly? He was a grown man and it was just an infatuation. He’d broken his own fucking ankle, for Christ’s sake; he was perfectly capable of simply spending a little time with an acquaintance and suffering through any unrequited nonsense in the process. When this particular acquaintance smiled, it sometimes made him want to rip his heart out - an act arguably more painful than a smashed ankle, true - but that feeling would dull itself soon enough, surely. He only liked her a little bit, and everything in life dulled in time. Time, Gold had noticed, passed quicker when he was listening to her talk about flowers and stars, anyway.

So just until everything went back to the way it was, until the center of his universe came home and stayed for good; why not stop drifting and let Belle French’s gravity draw him into orbit for a while?

(Something in his chest was squirming and trying its very best to answer that question. But Gold wasn’t listening.)

“I’ve managed to kill cacti,” he told her, putting on a wry half smirk. “I think you’d better keep an eye on these. If you have the time, that is.”

She clapped her hands together, an excited gesture to seal the deal. “Awesome!”

There. Done. And his fingers weren’t trembling like he was worried they might when he pulled the vase closer to his side of the counter. The glass was cool under his fingertips. He did like the colors she chose for the thoughtful flowery millstone around his neck.

“They bring a bit of life to the room,” he remarked, twisting the vase slowly around in his hands. She didn’t need to know he quite liked the room dead as a dodo. “Thank you. You really shouldn’t have.”

Belle waved away his thanks, then clasped her hands behind her back. Rocking slowly back and forth on her heels, she confessed, “I was a little worried you’d think it was lame, actually, cause you sort of looked at me like I was crazy for a second.”

Though she spoke in the past tense, Gold caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her flickering smile. He wanted to make it disappear.

“Not at all. You just… surprised me completely, that’s all.”

“Oh! Mission accomplished, then.”

She bit gently down on her grin, bottom lip caught between her pearly white teeth. He realized then, a little worryingly, that he would be perfectly content just watching her do that for an hour or two. With a guilty smile, he tore his eyes away. Felt wrong to stare.

“Anyway, I should get back to work,” she sighed after a peaceful wordless moment, taking a few steps back towards the door. “Move these somewhere cool at night, if you can.”

“I will,” replied Gold, without even the slightest notion as to where that would be, hips slowly pushing into the edge of the counter as if his body wanted to follow her out regardless of any obstacles. “Have a nice day, Belle.”

“You too!”

The door creaked, the bell chimed, and Gold watched her walk off with a bounce in her step until she was out of sight completely, at which point an incredibly deep sigh escaped him.

Flowers. Actual flowers. Roses, daisies, and - mimosa, was it? He wouldn’t move them. He’d keep them right there in the middle of the counter where she’d put them, and he would spend the next days looking at his customers over a sea of fragrant yellow, white and green.

Breathing in sharply, Gold opened the drawer he’d so hurriedly pushed shut earlier. He took out the notepad, limped calmly into the back room and wondered just how many pieces he could rip that stupid list into before the kettle boiled.


	11. The Florist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making the most of a bouquet of flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super super super super super super super sorry, and I've missed you guys a lot. I won't go into why I couldn't write anymore; just know that it made me very sad that I couldn't. I'm sorry if I worried anyone. Things aren't very easy for me still, but I'm letting people help and I've got a support system in place, so there's absolutely no reason to worry.
> 
> This is a small chapter, and I think I'm going to have to stick to this sort of length from now on. Shorter updates, but more updates, you know? A less paralyzed Extree. :)
> 
> Love you.

Gold followed his flowers - and Belle, his personal florist for the week - into the back of his shop. All week he had watched her work her magic to stretch the lives of her flowers longer. He knew the routine by heart now, but it felt different somehow, today. There was a hint of finality in the air. The daisies were drooping, the white roses were a bit brittle, and he couldn’t help but think she was going about the ritual a little slower that cold, rainy afternoon.

Trailing behind her with three or four fallen rose petals in his hand, Gold watched as Belle placed the vase safely on the counter next to the sink and picked out her very first flower to fix. She always took a moment to find the neediest of the bunch first. In her dark green wool tights and her wine red dress, she looked a little bit floral as well, but nothing like the white and yellow flowers she’d been tending to so expertly the past few days.

“I’m impressed with how they’ve been holding up,” he said, leaning back against the table across from her. The wood creaked with his weight.

“Mm, they’ve been doing well, haven’t they? We’re starting to push it a little bit, though.”

The white rose petals in his hand felt weak and damp against his palm and had yellowed at the base. He made a small sound of agreement and nodded solemnly.

“But that’s alright,” she sighed. “They’re not meant to last forever.”

On her first few visits, Belle had made sure to explain to him, step by step, what it was that she was doing. Even if it was just pouring out the day-old water into the sink, or opening a packet of flower food - whatever that was - to sprinkle it into the new water. She snipped away at the very bottom of each and every stem while holding it under running water (“Keeps the air from getting in like this.” “Flowers can get air embolisms?” “I guess so. Crikey, that’s a bit morbid, though.” “Oh. Sorry.”) and looked over her shoulder every once in a while to check if he was still paying perfect attention.

But there was nothing left to explain today, no secrets left to divulge. She’d taught him everything, and he knew exactly what she was doing, so it was very quiet in the back room. Just the calming sounds of running water in the sink, rain tapping against the windows, and the _snips_ of Belle’s sharp knife cutting that last bit of precious life into her flowers with surgical precision. He wanted to hear her say something in that accent of hers. He wanted her to see him rapt and attentive, wanted to see her smile. Most of all, he wanted her to distract him like no-one else could, distract him from last night’s text messages that had almost, but not quite, led to something substantial.

_I promise not to come after you. I absolutely promise_

_Don’t know if I believe you. Night_

It was the closest he had felt to getting even the vaguest clue from Neal. When it hit him how out of reach he still was, Gold went to bed with an empty feeling in his stomach, the source of which was not, for once, another skipped dinner.

A question. Any question would do. Would she have dinner with him? No! No, not that. Not that, dear God. Anything else. Gold cleared his throat and put on a semi-serious look.

“Did you go to school for this, then?”

She gave a quick smile over her shoulder. “No, my dad taught me. I didn’t think to study anything quite so practical.”

“Art history?”

She looked surprised and shook her head. “Literature. Do I look like an art history person?”

Ah, swing and a miss.

“No! Or yes, I suppose, a bit. A liberal arts person, broadly speaking, perhaps. I… didn’t mean anything by it.”

While she giggled under her breath at his babbling, Gold remembered the books in her bag, remembered catching her with her nose in a book instead of aimed up at the empty skies. And as he stared at her skilled hands in that moment, he began to picture her alone in a small room with big windows, hunched over a dusty book on an old wooden desk strewn with papers and snack wrappers. A pencil between her red lips. Her hair pulled up carelessly. A thoughtful frown creasing her forehead. One leg crossing over the other slowly, the sound of skin sliding on skin, and -

“What about you?”

He jerked his head up and blinked frantically for one incredibly silly moment, chilled by a genuine fear that by looking into his eyes just then, she might have caught a glimpse of his little self-indulgent daydream.

“Pardon?”

“Did you go to college? What did you study?”

“Just, ah… law.”

Her mouth fell slightly agape in a look of surprise tempered with a very distinct lack of excitement. Gold understood completely. He’d seen that look more than once before, and he was just relieved he’d had the chance to make a different, less horribly dull impression on her first.

“So you didn’t go to pawnbroker school, then?” she joked, the corners of her perfect blue eyes crinkling pleasantly when she grinned.

God, she was just unreasonably gorgeous, wasn’t she?

“No, but the knowledge comes in handy with other matters. I rent out a bit of property around town. It helps having some familiarity with the law.”

“Did you study back in Scotland? Judging by your accent, I don’t reckon you grew up here.”

“Indeed I didn’t, but I did get my degree here,” he explained, quickly adding, “ — a bit late in life,” when he spotted the beginnings of a confused frown on her face.

“Late bloomer?”

He dropped his head with mock shame and made his voice deep. “Oh, shamefully late.”

Belle grinned playfully and tucked one of the daisies back into the embrace of its siblings. 

“I took weekend and evening classes, actually. Had to, really. What with work and Neal. It, ah… took me a good while to finish that way, but…”

He trailed off because he knew he was dangerously close to giving himself a pat on the back in that moment, and worse; Belle had sensed it too. She’d stopped tending to her flowers, her eyebrow gave a minute little twitch, and then she aimed a curious look his way. Gold finished his sentence with a shrug instead and smiled through the silence. So did she.

“That is so amazing.”

There he stood, smacked disproportionately silly with just a few innocuous words.

“It must have been really hard,” she clarified, eyes big and honest. “I don’t think I could have managed, juggling work and school like that. And a child!”

“Oh, nonsense. You’d breeze through it.”

The words had come out so easily and so fast Gold suddenly feared that he had become see-through in front of her. Startled, he adjusted course with a halfhearted joke at her expense.

“Or sleep through it, considering your bedtime is never, ever, at all.”

To his relief, she laughed and nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Pleased to have made her laugh, Gold beamed back at her with a warm face and a warm heart, and he didn’t notice the water had boiled until the kettle was screaming and Belle was staring at him with her eyebrows all the way up.

“Bugger!”

…

Sitting at the table with his hands circling his cup of tea, eyes on Belle’s fingers twirling her spoon in her cup and swirling up the sugar, Gold quietly wished more of the flowers had made it today. Many had ended up in the bin, messes of wet stalks and faded petals, in with the discarded tea bags and crumpled up notes. They couldn’t keep the rotting flowers in with the ones that were still doing well, she’d said earlier, and he’d made some silly joke about bad influences that didn’t really go anywhere, but she’d laughed anyway, and she’d looked so beautiful and happy that he didn’t even care if she was laughing because he was hopelessly unfunny.

Once the warmth in his face had gone down and he had a few sips of tea in him, Gold felt himself solidify again, just a bit. Back straight, no rambling, no terrible jokes. They talked about selling flowers and antiques, of early mornings and late nights, of good tea and bad tea, of shooting stars and light pollution.

And then:

“Actually, it won’t be raining tomorrow night, I don’t think. Are you coming?”

Gold very nearly choked holding back his resounding _YES_. Oh, he hadn’t seen her in that pale silver light for so long. The smell of burning logs had gone out of his coat. His nights had been so -

“Didn’t they teach you about yes or no questions in law school?”

The teasing sweetness in her voice made his heart stutter. When she tilted her head to the side and grinned at her own joke, his spine melted into some sickly sweet liquid. Perhaps even sweeter than she’d made her tea, if that was even physically possible.

“Yeah,” he said, hiding his childlike happiness behind his cup of tea. “Course I am.”

“Course you are.”

He could still hear the rain dripping from the roof onto the concrete outside when the sun burst through the window behind him and painted everything - including the most addictive Ms Belle French - a perfect gold.


	12. Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shooting star on a cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the sweet, supportive comments on the last chapter. I'll reply to all of them. I'm still overwhelmed and figuring things out, but knowing you guys are there means the world to me. I wish I could write faster, but I'm grateful for what I can write, and even more grateful that you guys are reading it. Thank you. <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

The skies were clear, and the cold nipped so sharply at his ears Gold couldn’t help but picture himself in a woolen hat with a pompom on top. It was a thought so ridiculous and yet oddly preoccupying that he nearly missed it: A shooting star cut a quick white stripe through the night sky and disappeared in a flash above the tree line in the distance.

“Did you make a wish?” asked Belle, sat next to him at the trusty fire basket.

With a slow glance at her flame-lit face, Gold shook his head no. He hadn’t. In fact, he’d forgotten all about making wishes.

Her brow crept up. “Don’t tell me you missed that.”

“No, no, I saw it.”

Eyes wide, she stared for a quiet second, but then quickly realized, “Ah, you’re not the wishing type.”

“But you are,” said Gold in turn.

“I guess so!”

_Well._ He smiled fondly and held back a little laugh in his chest. That wasn’t surprising in the least.

“Do you make wishes every time you see a shooting star?”

Belle grinned wide, slipped her hands in her coat pockets, leaned back in her chair. “No, I forget sometimes. But I’ve made lots.”

“And have any of them come true?” he asked, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

But he hadn’t tried hard enough. Her gaze flitted down to his mouth where she must have spotted the beginnings of a smirk, and she pursed her writhing smiling lips and rolled her eyes.

“Yes, if you must know. But I’m not naive about it; I just reckon it can’t hurt to try, right? And if it works out, it doesn’t really matter if it’s just a coincidence or - … Oh, I don’t know…”

Gold quirked a single eyebrow. “Magic?”

Her grin grew slightly bigger. “Sure. Magic.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in it,” he muttered, unsure whether he meant it.

“What? _Harm?_ ” she laughed, shocked at the mere suggestion. “Of course there isn’t!”

She hadn’t shouted exactly, but her voice was certainly louder than the muttered conversation on the other side of the fire, and she had turned some heads. Gold found it easy to ignore them. They weren’t grinning at him like she was.

“Will you tell me about the wishes that came true, then?”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Belle pressed her lips together tight and shook her head.

“Mm, no. I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come now,” he muttered, making his voice playfully deep. “I might not be an expert on the matter, but I do know there’s no law stopping you from talking about your wish _after_ it comes true. Have you secretly won the lottery? Any superpowers I should know of?”

“Nope!”

She was still shaking her head, her soft brown curls rolling over her shoulders, the grey woolly bobble atop her black knit hat wobbling happily when a spark of courage with origins unknown lit the wick of curiosity, just for a moment, just long enough for him to dare ask, “Wished for Prince Charming on a white horse?”

He’d managed to ask without choking - sounded perfectly indifferent and casual about it too, in fact. Still he worried about his mask a little bit, at least until he heard her snort an almost insulted, “And take all of the fun right out of it? No!”

His heart did a pathetic little jump, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. Was it the mere confirmation that there was no Prince Charming to speak of? Was it the word fun? Stupid, if that was the case. Stupid, stupid. Nothing to do with him, that word.

“Right,” he managed, mirroring her careless smile as best he could. “Of course not. Silly.”

Her eyes glinted in the dancing light of the fire, her lips were pulled into the most beautiful grin. Gold wanted to pull his asinine, dull old heart out of his chest and toss it into the fire, but he was quite confident that she couldn’t tell, at least. Not in this light.

“Just one, then. Only one. That’s all I ask.”

She kept up her stare for another moment, then looked straight into the fire with a soft sigh and her grin melting into a milder smile. Her hands, palms covered and fingers bare, were curled around her styrofoam cup of tea. Steam curled up in swirls, white in the cold grey dark of night. The burning wood in the fire basket cracked, poofed, then settled again.

Then she spoke softly.

“I know it’s just a coincidence, but a few weeks ago, I - … I wished you’d get a call from your son.”

_Oh._

Barely louder than a whisper, but deafening somehow. Something in his chest had ballooned and swallowed up all of his words to leave him speechless. The feeling became suffocating when she looked up at him and with a bit of a frantic edge to her voice rushed to add, “I was sure he was gonna call you anyway, eventually! I know it’s just -”

“Thank you.” And the pressure in his chest was gone, just like that. His lips were dry and he licked them. The cold air hit them and made them sting, and with that sobering prickle came a small sharp shock of realization. Under the pressure of her stare, Gold stuttered, “I’m not saying I - … you know. I don’t believe the stars had anything to do with that, but… But thank you. That’s… very swee- Very kind of you. That’s what I mean.”

“Yeah, I gotcha!” she giggled.

Her laughter shattered the tension into a million pieces - so utterly broken and safely in the past that Gold found himself hiding a sigh of relief in his laugh as he slumped a little in his chair.

“Oh. Alright. Good.”

“It’s funny you thought I might misunderstand, though.”

“Funny?”

“Yeah. Cause I know you a little bit by now, I think.”

Overconfident after surviving that awkward moment, Gold opened his mouth for a reply that was actually, in reality - and tragically - nowhere to be found. 

Did she? Did she know him at all? Would he know if she did and was there any point in wondering, then? His mind was teeming with useless questions, and now his mouth was dry, and in her face he saw that she had noticed - noticed what? - and _God_ , she was bad for his health. What was he thinking, letting himself flutter so close to a flame like this? No — what was the imagery he’d so stupidly convinced himself with? Something extraterrestrial, he was sure. Orbits? Collision courses, more like.

Belle, her head cocked slightly, tried to nudge his brain out of the mire he’d gotten it stuck in with a soft, “Don’t I?”

But he hadn’t a word left in him. His eyes were glued tight to her lips. He was grateful when she stopped smiling.

But…

The change was too abrupt. With a frown wrinkling his forehead, Gold caught the very moment her smile disappeared. It was a complete slackening of her lips, all at once. Concerned, he looked into her eyes and found them focused elsewhere. Over his shoulder somewhere. The International Space Station passing again? No, no. No, she was looking far too low for that.

A breathless, “Look,” and her hand on his wrist stopped the whirring in his head.

He turned, following Belle’s gaze, and saw a figure. A figure in the darkness, clothed in navy and black, hands in pockets, already close but walking closer with clumsy long limbed steps that inspired a sudden rush of familiarity so primal and strong that Gold was up on his feet before he even knew it.

Dark hair. A pale face. Guilty red eyes and a heartbreaking frown.

Neal.

_Neal!_

“Hi dad,” he mumbled, his voice as hoarse as his eyes looked tired. “I uh… I found your note. Next to the phone.”

Gold felt no pain as he forced his weight on his bad ankle and stumbled away the distance between them until he could wrap his arms around his son’s shoulders and pull him into his embrace. Tight. Tighter. Until there was no room for air in his lungs, and no room for escape.

“Oh, my boy.”


	13. Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal returns with important news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys. I'm so sorry for disappearing for so long. All of the sweet comments you left me were so good to read, and they mean so much to me. I'm very sorry for not replying to those too. You're all wonderful. Thank you.

“I’m sorry, son.”

Gold’s eyes stung with tears, he’d knocked the side of their heads together in their embrace and he’d fucked up his ankle for the foreseeable future, but none of that mattered one jot. To have his son in his arms again so unexpectedly felt both impossible and the realest thing he’d felt in days, all at once.

“Dad,” Neal mumbled against his shoulder. “I messed up.”

“No, you’re not in any trouble. You’re back. That’s all that matters. I’m so sorry.”

Though his instincts screamed at him to hold on, he let his son slip away and step back when he felt the embrace weaken. Oh, the look on his face was far too grave for his liking. But that didn’t curb the swelling of love and relief in his chest.

“Just tell me you’re alright.”

“Yeah… Yeah, I’m okay, but I… I messed up and I - I don’t know what to do.”

When Neal’s tired gaze strayed, Gold looked over his shoulder and followed. Of all the eyes focused on the both of them, closest and most arresting were Belle’s. Big, blue, and glinting wet.

“Come on,” he breathed, nudging his son along a little further away from the fire and the scrutiny. The further they walked, the sharper the crunch of grass under their feet. “Where have you been?”

“Boston,” replied Neal with his eyes downcast. “Met up with a girl I met online a while ago. She helped me find a place to stay, and… And stuff.”

“Boston? O-Online? What girl? You - You’ve been in Boston all this time?”

“And we… I mean, we really hit it off, and we… I…”

_Boston?_

Gold had been dislodged from the moment, quite violently, and thrown into a frightful maelstrom of tangled and urgent thoughts — _internet predator, Boston, Kittery, internet predator, internet predator, failed him, failed, failed, failed failed failed failed_ — where he was quite helpless until Neal’s pleading voice reached him. Pulled him back.

“Dad? Are you listening? This is hard enough already. Please.”

“Of course. Of course I’m listening.” He touched him shakily on the arm. “You can tell me.”

“We got together, I guess,” he said quietly, folding his arms over his chest.

Gold’s hand slipped and swung down limp by his side. “Together?”

“Like… as in dating. And things happened, and… she’s pregnant.”

Suddenly everything was frozen — his face in a wide-eyed, open-mouthed picture of shock and his brain in a useless unforgiving chunk of ice. He couldn’t process anything. Nothing made any sort of sense. Someone had hit the brakes of the universe and everything had screeched to a halt in a most terrifying, unreal place.

“W-What?”

Neal responded with a guilty furtive glance that felt like a shove to the chest. “She’s pregnant.”

“Pregnant?”

He nodded, then faced with his stunned silence mumbled another confirmation.

“You… _You?_ You got a girl pregnant?”

In an instant, just like that, Neal slipped into the same wounded look he’d used as a small child to report broken vases or disappointing school results. It was jarring.

“We used protection! It was an accident! We didn’t -”

“ - plan?” Gold gasped, heart thudding itself into hysterics in his throat. “I bloody hope not!”

“I know, dad! I know! … I know.”

Neal hid his eyes behind his hands, rubbing them, shaking his head slow.

In those silent seconds (only the crackle and _poof_ of a log in the fire basket behind them) after the shock had crested, a calm began to settle over Gold. A heavy sort of calm, like a chainmail blanket. Not comforting. Not warm. But grounding, in a sense. A calm meant to gather and return him to a state less useless than outright paralysis.

His son needed him. There would be time to fall apart later.

“Oh, Neal,” he sighed, gently pulling down his hands to reveal a face that was truly, truly lost. “Neal, are you sure? Did she take a test?”

Neal nodded, then breathed in deep and shakily. His eyes flitted everywhere in a futile effort to hide the faint glimmer of stifled tears.

“I don’t know what to do, dad.”

“That’s alright. That’s alright. We’ll… We’ll figure this out. You haven’t put the girl up at Granny’s, have you? She can stay at the house. What’s her name?”

“Emma, but -”

“We’ll pick her up on the way home. Call Emma, tell her there’s no need for her to -”

“She’s not here,” Neal interrupted in a deep mumble, barely audible even in the dead silence of night.

“Well, where is she? With her parents?”

“No, she doesn’t - … Look, I… I didn’t -…”

Gold felt it by the sick heaviness in his stomach before he really knew it, and he knew it before Neal said it. He didn’t know how. He’d never know how.

“Neal?” he prompted darkly. “Please tell me you didn’t just…”

Uncertain eyes met his in a most vulnerable moment. A second passed. Two. Three. And the opportunity for denial was gone.

“I ran,” Neal whispered, pulling the rug right from under his feet. “I got scared, I-I didn’t know what to do, b-but you always… You always know what to do, dad.”

“Oh, God, you could have called. I’d have been on my way. You _know_ that. You can’t just -”

“I panicked! I had to do something!”

“Not that!”

“I know!” he cried out hands flailing out in despair. “I fucked up!”

_Oh Jesus,_ thought Gold as he brought his hand up to smooth it over the cold skin of his face. _Jesus Christ, it’s genetic, and I’ve cursed him with it._

And that was the best case scenario.

With a calm expression belying the growing sense of emergency in his head, he grabbed a firm hold of Neal’s shoulders and squeezed down. Neal was shaking. He was breathing much too fast, through his mouth, in shallow stabs.

“It’s alright, son. Breathe. Slowly now.”

They stood there for a moment, just long enough for breaths to slow and shoulders to loosen under his freezing fingers. Mercifully, the heartbreaking fear in his son’s eyes ebbed away.

“What do I do, dad?”

“You go back. I’ll take you. We’ll figure this out together.”

Neal’s eyebrows furrowed in careful confusion.

“You… You’d do that?” he asked. “You’d come with me?”

Gold frowned. The question was hurtful somehow. Perhaps the boy had been struck with a fear so strong that trust was simply out of reach in the moment. Gold knew the feeling well. He wished he were still the only one carrying that particular ugly burden in his heart.

“Of course I would. I’d do anything for you.”

“I didn’t mean to just… I’d never - I need to fix this. I need to show her this isn’t me. This isn’t me, dad.”

There were tears in his eyes again, just a shallow glinting layer of wetness too thin to pool into tears, but his shoulders were still rock hard and sharp underneath his hands.

“You panicked. You made a terrible choice, but what matters now is your willingness to make things right. Will you let me help you take responsibility?” 

Without delay, Neal gave a decided nod, then wiped away his tears with the sleeve of his coat.

“Please.”

There. See? _His_ curse. Not Milah’s. He’d passed on his hair trigger flight response, that was surely what this was. No gift either, by any means, but dear God, it was much less heartbreaking than the alternative.

And it was a curse Gold knew how to deal with. At least he did now that he was seeing it wreak havoc on someone he loved so deeply. Clearer than a mirror. It was a kind of clarity he wasn’t used to, but he was beyond grateful for it now.

Neal had to sail straight into the storm.

“Good lad,” Gold praised, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he let him step back again. “We’ll leave right now. Swing by the house to get some food in you first.”

Neal motioned weakly to a spot somewhere behind him. “Aren’t you gonna say goodbye?”

Stupidly, Gold only realized what he meant until he turned and saw Belle, startled to see him look at her, but quick to conjure up a little smile. Curious, questioning, a little nervous.

“I’ll wait in the car.”

“Wait!” Gold whipped his head back around so suddenly he very nearly hurt his neck. “Neal…”

He frowned. “What?”

“I’d, ah… I’d rather you stay close.”

“For real?” Neal blurted, clearly upset. “I’m not gonna run off again! What, you think I’d steal the car or something?”

“Now listen, that’s not what I -”

“I would have stolen it the first time if I was that kind of asshole.”

Right now, Neal was likely wracked with uncertainty and shame, Gold knew, and it kept him calm in the moment. Anyone would lash out. Any teenager, at least. He swallowed down his stern words and responded to his son’s shaky pout only with an understanding nod.

Neal held out his hand, palm upturned, as if silently commanding the car keys to come flying through the air and into his possession.

With a few slow steps, Gold closed the distance between them and pressed the keys in Neal’s palm, folding his cold fingers over them. Safe.

“I know. You wouldn’t. You just don’t know how relieved I am to see you again. I’ve missed you. I was worried sick. That’s all.”

The gesture and the touch seemed to work. Neal’s demeanor softened. Jaw unclenched. Forehead smooth. Hackles down.

“Thanks, dad. For doing this.”

Gold released his hand. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

…

Once Gold turned and took his first step towards Belle and the fire, the wave crashed. An entire ocean of questions and warnings washed over him, ice cold and heavier than anything he’d ever felt before. One word in particular hit hard.

_Pregnant._

And then he was numb.

“Is everything alright?” asked Belle, once he’d limped close enough.

“Yeah,” Gold sighed, his breath forming a cloudy puff of whiteness in the air. “Well… yes, he… He got himself into a bit of trouble, but he’s fine. I’m taking him back to Boston to try and sort things out. That’s where he’s been staying, as it turns out. With a girl.”

“Oh!”

Belle’s eyes had gone wide in sweet but obviously feigned surprise. Gold knew what had happened instantly, and despite everything, he felt the corners of his lips twitch. He almost smiled.

“You overheard.”

At his gentle accusation, Belle relaxed. She even dropped an inch or two when she sighed in nervous relief. Must have been standing on her toes.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“That’s alright. We didn’t really think to keep it down.”

Her little smile faltered for a moment, her mouth falling open for lost words that showed no sign of making their appearance after a few seconds. Then her brow went wrinkled in concern, and her hand found his elbow.

“Hey… Are you alright?” she asked, with the softest little emphasis on the word _you_.

“Doesn’t matter.”

But when she squeezed, he felt her melt through every single layer of him, and find him. The numbness went abruptly. He truly felt her touch now, and it felt comforting, but there was something else seeping through into his consciousness. It was almost overpoweringly unpleasant a thing. Intense. Like a ball of static or perhaps even a clump of nails just lodged firmly right in the center of his ribcage.

_Pregnant._

Belle squeezed his elbow again, very gently. Her eyebrows had gone up. She needed an answer.

“Shocked.”

She nodded slowly.

“But relieved,” he continued.

“I’m glad you have your son back.”

“Yeah,” replied Gold, looking over his shoulder to see Neal walking towards the edge of the field.

He did, didn’t he? He did have his son back. There _was_ the… the issue. But Neal was back. He knew where he’d been, where he was, where he would be. They were together, and he was safe, and when they were finally face to face again, there was no hatred in his eyes like there had been the last time.

A very soft little laugh, like a small bell in the distance, lured his gaze back again. Belle was grinning at him in a way that made his stomach clench a bit - just a touch - and he noticed how the fire behind her made her hair glow golden red, and the very tip of her nose was pink with the cold, and… ah, that was right. That whole situation. That terrible decision of his to let her have this effect on him, as if _he_ were the teenager with nothing better to do.

He was an idiot.

“Something funny?” he managed.

“It’s good to see you this happy,” she answered, and she let her hand slip from his elbow.

_Happy?_

Only now could he feel the smile on his face. How long had that been there? How _could_ it even be there when he had just received such overwhelming news? When he knew his boy must have been feeling —

“Hey, um…”

“Hm?”

She bit her lip for a second, her eyes gone a little smaller. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

The question surprised him. Puzzled, Gold stammered a, “Well, yes. I don’t know how long we’ll be gone for, but I-I don’t… see why -”

“Oh, no! Yeah!” Belle interjected, suddenly stiff again. “No, of course! Silly. Don’t know why I…”

She trailed off into soft laughter again and looked down at her boots. God, how he wanted to scoop her into his arms for a hug. She’d hugged him once. It was the warmest thing. It would be greedy and foolish to hope for another.

At least he could always tease her.

“You’re not running off too far either, are you?” he asked, making his voice deep and conspiratorial.

After enjoying her sweet confusion for a second or two, Gold gave the incredibly dark, incredibly vast sky above a quick indicative nod.

She caught on in a flash, and a grin exploded on her face. “Alright, that’s it! Off with you!” she demanded, poking him in the shoulder with with a single finger. He barely felt it. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Be safe,” she added.

“You too.”

…

The walk back to the car felt longer and colder than usual, until he spotted the yellow glow of the cadillac’s interior lights in the distance. He hadn’t lied back there, when he told his son that he did trust him not to run off again. At least, it hadn’t _felt_ like a lie. But still a weight was lifted from his stomach when he saw Neal’s profile in the frame of the passenger window. He looked so forlorn. So vulnerable.

But he was there.

Things would be alright, Gold thought to himself as he gave Neal a quick smile, walking around the car towards the driver’s seat. He would make things alright. That was his job. That was the one thing in this life that was his to do. His most precious thing.

And as he settled into his seat and pulled the door shut behind him, he remembered here was a crib in the attic. Old, wooden, but sturdy and polished to a beautiful deep golden brown glow. He remembered hovering over it every night, just watching his boy breathe and sleep with not a single care in the world in that soft, perfect little head of his.

If he needed it. If _they_ wanted it. It was his. It was still his.

…

In the car, Neal moved his hand quickly towards the radio, as it always did when they drove together. Only this time he didn’t fiddle with the buttons as much, and he kept the volume low for a vague melodious rustling quieter than the car’s heating springing to life. A reflex, then. A habit observed only for the sake of some sort of structure to the moment. Gold wasn’t ungrateful for the background noise, as he was incapable of gathering his wits completely. They’d fucked off and, uncharacteristically, hadn’t left a note. Neal didn’t seem ready to talk either. There was likely not a single subject that wasn’t either vacuous considering the circumstances, or unbearably difficult to broach.

So that old crib up in the attic was still right at the forefront of his thoughts when Neal got an unexpected text message somewhere around half past midnight. From Emma. The term she used was cold and clinical: false positive. She had added a few choice expletives and finished off with a command for Neal to keep running _‘like a fucking dog’_.

False alarm. No baby.

They were stopped on the hard shoulder of the highway headed south, lights still blinking, in complete icy silence.

Emma wasn’t answering her phone. After a few failed tries, it went straight to voicemail. One try later, and her voicemail was disabled completely. Any and all texts had gone unanswered too. It was a thorough, resounding _fuck off_ if ever there was one, and Gold had never seen Neal look so small and hopeless before. His unruly hair was all over the place, his eyes watery and still as he stared at the glaring screen of his phone.

Softly, deeply, but not without audible relief in his voice, he said, “I would have stepped up.”

“I know, son.”

“I still have to go see her. I have to apologize.”

“Of course. I’ll still take you.”

“She’s going to kill me. _I’d_ kill me. I mean, she wouldn’t. She really could kick my ass, but she wouldn’t. You know what I mean.”

Neal looked at him helplessly, knowingly, exhaustedly. They’d had to stop off at a motel soon.

“She’d have to go through the gigantic bouquet of flowers you’re getting her first.”

“She totally could.”

Gold smiled, shook the vision of that crib out of his mind’s eye for the moment, and pulled back onto the road. He knew a florist he could text at unreasonable hours with unreasonable questions such as: _Is there a certain kind of flower that just screams ‘I’m sorry for running out on you during our pregnancy scare’?_

Maybe he would.

But maybe tomorrow.

“Tell me more about Emma. Black belt?”

When Neal laughed, his cold bones finally began to warm.


	14. Breakfast, somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Neal have time to talk on their impromptu road trip. But they also have time for awkward silences. Also, Gold texts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you guys for sticking with me. <3 Thank you. You're wonderful, and you mean the world to me. :)

There were no other patrons in the diner that morning, but the staff were in good spirits. The sound of their chatter and laughter coming from the kitchen helped make breakfast bearable. The decor was appropriately dated. Everything was spotless and clean; the napkin dispensers in particular seemed to have been polished into perfect mirrors.

Gold and Neal sat opposite each other at a table near a window with an uninspiring view of the endlessly gray parking lot and the back of their motel, and tried to make the best of things. The eggs were a little rubbery but the coffee was good, and that was the most important part.

In one of his more vocal moments of the morning so far, Neal had declared his pancakes _‘alright, I guess’_ , but he’d been poking at the last one with his fork for a full two minutes at least. They’d been having their conversation in a similar manner. Sparingly, carefully. Not much of an appetite for it.

“Instagram, you said? Is that the one with the pictures?”

“Mhm.”

“And… When did this start? When did you meet there, I mean.”

A waitress fluttered near in a cloud of powdery perfume to interrupt their hushed talk and to top up their cups. Both he and Neal flashed her a quick smile as thanks, and Gold wondered if his smile had looked as mechanical and labored as Neal’s then. They didn’t look especially alike, he’d been told, but surely there was some semblance?

Neal pulled his coffee a little bit closer to his plate. “About a year ago.”

“A year,” Gold repeated quietly.

He did recall mysterious screen-lit smiles during movie nights, and muffled laughter coming from his bedroom at hours that were hardly acceptable, even when accounting for the nocturnal nature of the average teenager. Occasionally Gold asked about these dopey smiles, but the answer was always something like an innocuous _‘just some friends being funny’_ , and Gold didn’t push. More content to see him smile than he was curious as to the cause, he never really thought to.

He wished he’d pushed.

“She just seemed really interesting. She took pictures of all these cool places, like rooftops and abandoned buildings and stuff. We started talking, and… I don’t know. We just clicked.”

“Is that why you chose Boston?”

“Yeah. She made it look really cool.”

“Oh.” Gold raised his brow. “I see, but I meant for her. For Emma. To see her.”

Neal stayed still for a second or two. When his answer came, it came in the form of a minute nod, and then a shrug, and then a sterner, more guarded look.

“Had to go somewhere.”

_‘Sure as hell couldn’t stay home with you,’_ was what Gold heard.

He felt a little sick, suddenly, and reached for the sugar to make his coffee less bitter. The first sugary sip was jarring, but seemed to give him some courage. Just a grain. Just enough for him to dare broach something very important and very unpleasant.

“Neal,” he began, making his voice low and as steady as he could. “Did you try to contact your mother?”

No reaction. None whatsoever. The tension was pulled taut between them, pulling tauter with each dying second.

“Neal?”

A few more seconds of silence, and then an abrupt, “No.”

Gold swallowed hard. He leaned in a bit, hands placed awkwardly on the edge on the table, not wanting to fidget.

“Would you like to?”

_Please say no,_ he thought, and he waited. With bated breath. He studied his son’s face closely, but there was nothing to read. No movement, no clue.

So… So he had to force the awful words out, even thought they were sharp and dry in his throat. They had kept him up the night before, and he feared he might never sleep again unless he just…

He had to.

“I’ll find her for you, if that’s what you want.”

“No.”

Underneath the surface of that second denial was a quiet rage, almost palpable in the calm of the room. How odd, Gold thought to himself, that it was actually a small relief to sense that anger again. Something other than defeat, despair, regret. Something that was _his_ burden to bear. Not Neal’s.

“I hated lying to you, son. I just wanted to protect you from -”

“I know,” Neal interrupted with a sharp shake of his head. “I know. It’s cool. You explained.”

Shocked, Gold sat back with wide eyes and nothing to say. Neal stared out of the window in a terse silence. As the seconds ticked away, the heat in his eyes simmered down again until he looked neither angry nor sad. The wave had crashed and retreated. The sea was deceptively calm again, but no less daunting, no safer underneath the surface than it was when the storm was still raging.

“Neal…”

“Good coffee, huh?” he blurted, flashing him the same quick dead smile they had both given their waitress.

With that, Neal had stuck the fork in the conversation. Done. Fini. Gold’s chest was still heavy with apologies and regrets, with fears and questions, but he wouldn’t push. God, he wished he could just _push_ , for once in his life.

Instead, he blinked, managed a weak nod and a poor excuse for a smile, and lifted his cup. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s… It’s good.”

With the coffee gone and the bill paid and the waitress politely tipped, they left the warmth of the diner and braved the cold late winter morning. The sky was nearly the same color as the parking lot asphalt. Just a little bit lighter, perhaps - but not by that much.

“Maybe I need to get her a gift or something,” Neal said once they’d settled into the car.

“A gift?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, staring intently at the radio as he began to fiddle with the buttons. With a crackle, soft guitar music began to play.

Gold couldn’t help but think of Belle. She was likely either stacking books or nursing flowers at this hour. Hopeful for an excuse to text her, to remind her of him, to know she was thinking of him if only for a second (and if only because her phone was literally flashing his name and forcing her to) he made a suggestion.

“Flowers?”

Neal huffed. “Too much of a cliché.”

Gold’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Really? A classic, perhaps, but… Cliché? Is it?”

“Well, yeah dad. Kind of is.”

He cleared his throat with an awkward cough. “Right. Well then, we could walk around a little bit when we get to town. See if anything speaks to you.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” Neal replied in an unconvinced mumble.

…

The first shopping street they stumbled upon on the last leg of their journey was as good as any, they agreed, and so they ventured out into an ice cold drizzle on a mission the use of which neither one of them seemed particularly convinced of.

Neal headed straight into a record store, a two story red brick building that looked a little out of place in the overwhelming drabness of the rest of the street. The rooms were warm, and the music was too loud. Less so in the vinyl section, where he managed to feign mild interest for a moment or two as Neal wandered off on his own.

But he was thinking of flowers, really.

Suddenly, Gold found himself staring at the black screen of his phone, frowning at it as if willing it to decide for him.

Because see, he was unsure if it was wise to…

… But ah, he wanted to.

\---

_Good morning, Belle. Neal told me it would be too much of a cliché to apologize with flowers. Your thoughts?_

It only took her about forty seconds to reply. Not that he was counting.

_Morning! Are you asking Belle the florist, or Belle the friend ;)_

Slowly, then quickly, a glowing heat rose up his neck and warmed his face.

_Both, preferably. But whoever’s available._

Thirty seconds. Give or take a few.

_Belle the florist thinks flowers are timeless, heartfelt, super reasonably priced gifts for any occasion ;)_

It was the winking face that was doing it. (Two of them!) Making his face feel hot, making him feel like his tie was far too tight.

_Naturally._

Should he be sending her faces, too?

_But Belle the friend sort of thinks even an entire flower shop might not cut it :/_

Gold released a tired sigh. She didn’t know the half of it, and he wasn’t sure if that was something he could remedy via text. Better to play it safe, he thought, and he texted back a _Thank you both so much_ as quick as he could.

_No problem :) good luck x_


	15. A Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neal and Gold try to find the perfect 'I'm sorry for running out on you during our pregnancy scare' gift. Gold finds something else. Then they find _someone_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and leaving comments, and kudos. It means so much to me. I'm lucky to have you guys. <3

In a sleepy little town they’d never heard of before, a fine rain on a sharp wind herded them from shop to shop in relative silence. A questioning look and a shake of the head in response was enough to get them on their way again, out into the rain and on to the next attempt.

No flowers. But what, then? They made their way down the shopping street in search of it, as methodically as possible. No luck in the record store. Nothing in the book store. There wasn’t even a flower shop to _consider_.

In an inscrutable little place towards the end of the street, Neal seemed to paying more attention to his phone than to the merchandise. Had this turned into something of a stalling tactic, Gold wondered? They were two thirds of the way to Boston. They were nearly there.

Now, Neal wouldn’t knowingly stall. Not in any calculated sort of way. But his stillness was at severe odds with the palpable urgency in the air around him. Everything about him had a tenseness about it. Every muscle, every movement, every word. He’d moved to a corner of the room now, staring at a row of snow globes, barely moving, hardly blinking, still holding up his phone as if it were some sort of lifeline to him. The screen was black.

Gold decided he’d let him stare at whatever he liked for a little while longer. A few minutes, perhaps. Then he’d deliver a proverbial prod and see if he’d sprouted roots. He would take the moment in between to survey the room with all the interest he could muster, which wasn’t very much. Everything of any apparent value was locked away, and the rest struck him as unsightly or unforgivably ordinary.

He moved to the more precious things, safe behind a pane of glass in a slanted display cabinet near the register. In it, resting on a worn bed of padded velour, lay wrist watches, pocket watches, earrings, necklaces and bracelets too. All manner of things wrought and decorated with great care and - on average - better taste than, say, those dreadfully gaudy snow globes from earlier.

One item in particular caught his eye, and —

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

Gold spun around and saw Neal stepping slowly backwards towards the exit, with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his arms and shoulders stiff as logs.

“Did you find something?” he asked, even though it was quite clear that he hadn’t.

“No, I’m just heading back down the way we came. See if maybe I missed something.”

“Alright, let’s go,” said Gold, and he shifted his weight to his cane.

But Neal smiled. A very tired, benevolent smile with a certain kind of softness just as present in his voice as he told him, “Actually, I just need a moment to think. Alone.”

Gold’s mouth fell open for a soft _Oh_.

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. That’s fine.”

And gone was that smile. Expired, in a sense, which was no surprise to Gold. Poor boy.

“Thanks. I’ll meet you back at the car.”

“Of course. Ten minutes?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

And with that, Neal left him alone in the shop. Well, not entirely alone, thought Gold as he glanced at the gray-haired woman of about seventy snoozing in her chair behind the till. But almost.

Ten minutes to waste, then. Alright.

A glint from the corner of his eye jerked his attention back to the display case. He moved closer. What was that pretty little thing? From a delicate golden chain hung a hollow glass pendant, shaped a little bit like a raindrop — or a single tear, depending on one’s mood or penchant for imagery. It wasn’t very big. Perhaps about the size of a cough drop, the sort the woman behind the till might dole out to her grand children before church on any given Sunday. What had really piqued his interest, however, was what was inside of the glass pendant. Pooled at the bottom was a gray, powdery substance. Ashes? Sand?

Gold leaned a little closer and squinted at the card placed near the trinket. It read:

_“Pendant containing genuine moon dust collected from certified lunar meteorite NWA 4881”_

And in a flash, his mind was made up. Before rationality stirred from its perch to caw a decisive _No!_. Before his eyes had even reached the price. He didn’t care. He had to buy it.

It took an attempt or two to wake the snoozing shopkeep, but when she opened her eyes, there was not a trace of annoyance nor shame to be found on her plump face. She took her time to wrap the pendant up in rich purple tissue paper, placing it, along with a small certificate, gingerly in a little black box. No lettering. Gold liked the look of it.

He paid in cash, slipped the box into his pocket, and felt very awake suddenly as he strode out into the wet cold. His heart was beating fast. His core felt tight walking back towards the car, thinking, _“What did I buy that for?”_

A speeding car sent up a spray of dirty rainwater on the other side of the street.

Idiot. Not what. _Who_. It was meant to be hers. That much was obvious, and just, and natural. But everything else about what he’d just done made no sense at all. How was he going to make it happen? How was he going to _make_ it hers?

The rain was no match for the thick wool of his coat, but his hair was getting fairly soaked now. He reached for the car door, but wasn’t quite able to finish the movement, because _good God_ , what had he done?

He could hardly just give her a gift without pretext, could he? When was her birthday? Could he ask her? Would that be strange? Was it even possible to ask in any sort of casual way? And what if her birthday was in August? He’d be out of her life by August. Why would she still be interested in his company by then, when the nights were warmer and more alive? Full of people for her to meet and save from whatever it was she thought they needed saving from. People she’d like.

He swallowed. Hard. Bit his cheek. No, there was no reason to panic. No harm done. If the opportunity came, then good. Fine. He’d keep it somewhere safe until then. And if ‘then’ never came, he would simply forget about it. Forever. It hadn’t cost him a fortune, and he could easily lose it in a drawer somewhere.

It seemed he’d calmed himself down just in time. There came Neal, breaking into a little jog as he crossed the street to meet him. Gold realized with a start that he’d just been standing out there, with his hand on the car door and who-knows-what written all over his tired, wet face. He moved quickly now, jerking open the door just as Neal opened the one opposite, shoving himself into his seat, hoping Neal wouldn’t —

“Why were you just chilling out in the rain like that?”

_Of course._

Gold gave a wry smile. “Lost in thought, that’s all.”

“Should I start worrying about you?”

“Hey!” he barked, feigning injury with a grimace.

He’d made him smile. He’d made his son smile. It was a weak smile, faint, nothing like the huge grin he would have had smeared all over his face before any of this had happened… But it was there, and what was there was real. That moment to think had done him well, then. Gold was glad.

“Did you find anything?”

Neal shook his head no. The rain tapped hard and hollow on the roof of the car. Storm was picking up.

“Are you sure you’re ready to leave, then? We could drive around a bit more.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he mumbled. “Stupid idea anyway. Like I’m trying to buy her affection or something.”

Despite a sudden lump in his throat, Gold hummed a sound of agreement. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The little box in his pocket seemed to grow at least three more sharp angles and about an inch or two bigger in there.

“Good thinking,” he muttered, and he fished the box out of his pocket, leaned over Neal’s lap and shoved it hurriedly into the glove compartment. He caught a look from the corner of his eye as he did so, and quickly thought of something boring enough to quell that spark of curiosity. He decided on, “Cufflinks.”

“Oh. Nice ones?”

“Well, you know. They’re cufflinks.”

A soft huff. “Yeah.”

“Ready to go?”

“As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“Good lad.”

…

 

They drove out of the storm, onto the highway for a little while, then through town after town until gray and white made way for red and brown, with glass and steel towering in the distance. Gold followed Neal’s directions, which came entirely without context. No small talk. No conversation. Nothing shared. So he wondered with every street they drove down, every coffee place they passed, every Chinese restaurant, if Neal had been there. Fallen for a girl there. Needed his guidance there.

A sudden, “Dad, stop,” shocked Gold out of his thoughts.

Neal’s stare was intense, fixed to a point up ahead.

“What is it?”

“Stop!” he cried out, grabbing at his seatbelt. “Stop right now!”

Alarm tightened Gold’s chest, hardened his grip on the wheel, harshened his movements as he pulled over and choked the car to a sudden stop. Just in time for Neal to damn near tear off his seatbelt with one hand and jerk open the car door with the other.

Speechless and nauseatingly helpless, Gold watched his son stumble out of the car and nearly into a fire hydrant.

“Neal!”

No answer. His eyes would not leave that one point in the distance. Gold tried to find it, blindly tugging and pushing at the mechanism of his own seatbelt, but all he saw was a row of houses stretching out towards the city center, and on the sidewalk, someone with a —

“Emma! Wait!”

A red jacket.


	16. (Luna)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memory of the moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small interlude-ish kind of thing. I think. Because I'm not sure how long the next chapter is going to take.
> 
> Thank you <3 <3 <3 <3

She was a little girl sprawled on her mother’s lap, up past her bedtime. But she wasn’t at all nervous about that. Mum’s hand was warm on her belly and it was there to keep her from slipping off her lap. Dad wasn’t checking his watch anymore either; time might as well have stood still.

It was just the three of them on that warm evening. Friday. Maybe Saturday. Belle wasn’t sure. Their world was just the patio, the radio playing quietly in the background, and the night sky. Two empty wine glasses glinted warmly in dim yellow light trickling out from behind the sliding door. The stars up above were white, not yellow, and so much brighter and sharper than that.

She felt safe to pipe up every once in a while. Normally, she’d be making herself smaller, keeping perfectly still and silent to escape dad’s detection just so she could have a little piece of the night for herself, so vast and starry and warm and deep. But mum was still holding on tight — she smelled of wine and spicy perfume, suntan lotion and salt — and dad had been smiling for such a long time now.

If she stretched her neck a little bit and leaned to the left, careful not to wriggle out of mum’s arms, she could see the moon just over a rooftop in the distance. Almost full. She reached for it, with her finger and thumb poised for a gentle pinch to try and catch it.

“Can we live on the moon?” she asked, closing one eye to perfect the illusion.

Dad grunted as he shifted in his chair to look over his shoulder. “Not if you crush it, darl’!”

With a giggle, she loosened her clever trap and left the moon where she’d found it.

“But could we?”

“Maybe some day,” said dad, looking serious. “But why would you want to? It’s so dusty up there. No grass, no trees or anything.”

That didn’t sound very nice, Belle thought. But the moon _looked_ so nice. Not dusty at all. Bright, like glowing marble. She pouted, gave a little shrug, and suddenly dad’s face looked much less serious.

“But I’m sure we could get some grass on there somehow.”

“Really, Moe?” Mum’s voice was very close to Belle’s ear, and it was a little bit hoarse from talking and laughing all evening. “And make it look exactly like everyone’s back yard?”

Belle pictured the moon green and crinkled her nose, thinking she might actually crush it then. Or push it a little bit deeper into space so it would be more of a pea than a brussels sprout, at least.

Dad sighed and turned in his seat to look at the moon again. “You’re right. It’s perfect just the way it is.”

“But hey,” said mum, pausing to plant a warm kiss on her cheek. A lock of brown hair fell forward and tickled Belle’s shoulder. “I bet we’ll be able to visit one day. And I’m sure the view’ll make up for all that dust.”

“Right. And our little Belle will take us when that day comes. Won’t you, princess?”

“I can go on my own. I’m not scared.”

Mum shook a little bit, laughing without making any sort of sound. Dad was trying very hard not to grin. Had she said something silly?

“I think your dad meant we’ll both be very old by the time they figure out how to get people to the moon for visits. You could come take us out for the day.”

“Oh.”

Belle nodded wisely, but frowned all the same. She couldn’t picture her parents much older. But then, she couldn’t picture anything right now. Her eyes felt a bit dry, and every time she blinked, it got a little harder to really keep them open.

Mum wrapped her arms tighter around her chest and hiked her up her lap again. Belle hadn’t noticed she’d been slipping. Slipping. Sleepy. She didn’t want to fall asleep. If she did that, the moment would end, and she would wake up in a different world from this one. She liked this one.

But heavy soon became too heavy, and her eyes fluttered irrevocably shut. Voices sounded deeper, farther. Slipping. Slipping. And then she was moving, but not walking, and spices and lotion swirled into clean linen instead, and with a kiss to her forehead and a creak of her bedroom door, the moment slipped, slipped away, for sleep.


	17. Sharp Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken hearts are sharp things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this, you're wonderful and patient and I love you. Even if you're not reading this. I'm just very thankful for all of you. You'll never know how much you've helped me. <3

He struggled out of the car without his cane, gripping the top of the car door for balance and watched, completely powerless, as Neal sprinted after the girl in the distance.

He stomped through puddles and dodged lamp posts and benches, trash cans and bewildered pedestrians. “Emma, wait!” he cried out, and when the girl froze, he skidded to a sudden clumsy halt.

She stood with her back turned to him and appeared, for a few tense seconds, as if she would never move again. When she turned, she was still stiff as a board. Her face was a pale canvas for a lethal mix of anger and shock. Wild eyes. Mouth tightly shut.

Until she spoke.

Gold couldn’t hear from where he was standing, so he moved closer. He did it slowly though, and he didn’t stray very far from the car. But still he inched into earshot. It felt right to be near, for Neal.

“I came to apologize.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Please, Emma.”

Behind a lamp post, sort of, Gold didn’t move a muscle. He was hardly concealed by any stretch of the imagination, but he didn’t feel at risk of being noticed. There was too much going on in the five foot bubble of tempest surrounding the two. Their gazes seemed to meet right at the center of the storm. Neal’s was desperate and open. The girl’s was sharp.

“I’m serious. Don’t bother.”

“Can’t we just talk?”

“You don’t just get to come back like nothing happened.”

“It’s not like that! I know what I did was wrong, I mean, terrible. I mean, I… What I did was horrifying. And stupid. And I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I panicked, and that’s not an excuse, I know, but -”

“But what?”

“But I…”

His hesitance must have stung her. With a deceptive calmness to her voice, she said, “But you only ran cause you thought I was pregnant, so everything’s cool now?”

“Emma, no -”

“No! I get it! Everything’s fine!” She sounded shakier now, wounded and aching. “Technically you didn’t run out on your pregnant girlfriend, right?”

“No, no that’s not what I -”

“Fuck off, Neal,” she spat, and with her arms wrapped tight around herself, she turned and walked away.

“I wanted to do this with you! I was already on my way back when you texted me!”

She faltered. Just for a second. A gap in her stride, a smaller stumbling step, and then she stood still.

“Emma, I swear. My dad was with me. He can tell you -”

“Oh, your _dad?_ ” She’d spun around in a flash. Her face was red now, hot with anger that had come to an irreversible boil. “The guy who lied to you your whole life can vouch for you? Great!”

Gold’s heart stopped for a second, dropped and thumped down into his stomach. There wasn’t much time to feel bruised, however, because suddenly he was in her sights. Caught in industrial floodlights in the dead of night.

She looked at him.

He couldn’t help but gape right back.

And couldn’t for the life of him think of anything to say.

“You’re…” Her eyes, staring in disbelief at Neal now, had grown alarmingly wide. She pointed at him with a trembling hand and said, “You’re serious? That’s him? You brought your dad?”

Swallowing, he glanced at his equally startled son, hoping for instructions.

“No! I mean, yes, but— H-He’s leaving!”

Gold raised his hands in surrender and agreed, “I’m leaving,” as he limped back two steps.

“Family tradition, huh?”

“Emma…”

_Christ._

He was a man impressed, not necessarily intimidated; but it did feel a little bit safer there back behind the car. With a cold thrum in his chest like an eighteen wheeler had missed him by just the breadth of a kitten’s whisker, he stood alert. Ready to round the hood and pull Neal away if he had to.

The rest of the tale unfolded fast, with raised voices and sharp silences in turn until eventually, the storm quietened to what could have passed for a conversation.

Then the aftermath came into view, slowly, like a dark cloud on a strong wind. Their heads were hung low. A gray grimness surrounded them. Emma took half of it with her when she walked away. Neal stood alone with the rest of it.

…

In the car, Gold stared at his son’s pale profile and waited. He knew to give him time. He didn’t recognize the look on his face. He was like a ghost in a daguerrotype, staring at nothing and everything, not really there. But not really anywhere else, either. Wary of staring the boy even thinner, Gold turned his gaze to a gathering of dark clouds regrouping up ahead.

“If it hadn’t been me… If some other guy did this to her, I’d…”

Gold glanced down at his boy’s knees, at his hands as they rubbed the thinning fabric of his jeans there in short strokes. His knuckles were white.

“She means a lot to you,” he offered quietly.

It started to rain again. Quick soft taps on the roof. Small drops on the windshield.

“I fucked up.”

He couldn’t help but look up to check on him now. And Neal didn’t look at all ghostly anymore. His stare was focused, his eyes blinked fast and his brow was furrowed deeply.

Suddenly, he uttered a strangled, “I wanna throw up.” His head jerked violently towards the window, and his hand slapped up against his face to cover his eyes.

Reflexively, Gold grabbed his other hand. Neal grabbed back, squeezed it tight. Tighter. Til it hurt. And all he could do in the face of such open, such sharp and burning turmoil was say his name. Neal. _Neal._

“She was in foster care all her life, no-one ever wanted to… and I just… Jesus Christ, I’m just another name on her list of assholes now, aren’t I? I’m just another asshole. And she’s right.”

“You made a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes.”

But Gold understood, then, that these were deeper wounds. Unfathomable, perhaps. He made sure not to let that understanding slip into his voice. His purpose was to reassure. To protect.

Neal fell silent. But his breathing was heavy and the grip on his hand was still tight. Minutes. Minutes before he loosened his death grip, and he uncovered his eyes. They were wet, and ghostly again.

“Son, are you -”

But a quick, cold confession cut him off.

“I tried to find mom.”

And Gold felt a chill, all over. Knots, everywhere, twisting his muscles and locking his joints into place.

“She helped me find her. Emma, she’s got no-one, and she helped me… she…”

Though the dryness of his throat, constricted by his heavy heartbeat, Gold managed only a quiet, “Did you find her?”

Neal’s perfect stillness spoke a million words. And the ground fell out from under his feet.

“H-How?”

Neal shook his head and frowned down at his nervous hands. “All we found was an e-mail address. She wrote back saying I had the wrong person.”

He didn’t want to ask. But there was nothing left to do.

“Did you?”

A dam crashed and crumpled and gave way to a torrential rush of something ice cold and stronger than stone. Neal’s eyes overflowed and his mouth twisted itself into a pained grimace. Gold moved fast, gathered him to his chest and squeezed his jerking body tight against him, closer with each choked sob.

“My sweet boy.”

His head didn’t fit perfectly into the palm of his hand as it did when he was just a day old bundle of perfection, but he made up for that by sheer pressure. Pressing his face into his shoulder. His arm tight around his chest.

“The look in your mum’s eyes when she held you for the first time, dear God, it was something,” Gold murmured into his ear. His face was red with anger and his heart hurt to even speak the words, but all of that meant nothing with his son so small and sore, crying in his arms. “Head over heels in love with you. She would have killed for you.”

Neal shook his head against his shoulder, biting out a choked, “No,” that shattered Gold completely.

“Head over heels. Couldn’t pry her away from you.”

“What changed?”

“She did. You were perfect then. You’re perfect now.”

Neal pushed himself out of the desperate embrace, face wet and red, shaking his head still. The occasional stifled sob shocked his shoulders.

“Why can’t I fucking… get a grip, I… I’m so weak.”

“No, listen to me,” said Gold, eyes wide now as he took firm hold of Neal’s shoulders. “You’re so strong. Think of what you’ve been through. What we’ve put you through. Your idiot father betrayed your trust, and your mother… God, your mother has lost the plot completely, and you… You hurt someone you care for. That’s a lot, Neal.”

Did he understand? He squeezed his shoulders tighter, pulled him closer and silently bade him to _understand, please._

“You can’t expect yourself to just… deal with this. Not on your own. Never anything like this.”

The pauses between silent sobs grew longer. Gold worried, for a moment, that that ghostlike look would creep back on his face and turn him into marble again.

But then Neal calmly met his worried stare, and suddenly the rain sounded much louder. It had gotten so much darker in such a short time. Or had they been here for longer than that?

“You always managed,” said Neal, with his voice deep and rough like bark now. Cried red and raw - and tired, above all.

“I, ah…” Gold shook his head a little, found he had to look away from a moment, overcome with a wave of shame that he couldn’t really understand, but didn’t think to question. “I don’t know about that.”

Neal settled back into his seat and watched the rain splatter thick droplets on the windshield. “I don’t get it. I don’t get her. Why contact me in the first place? Guilt? Is that it?”

Gold couldn’t answer that. So he kept silent.

“Five hundred bucks and something about missed birthdays and Christmases. Graduation. Whatever. I should have known. No phone number, no nothing.”

The bitter, tired layer to his son’s voice stung him into action. He sat up straight and put his hand on Neal’s arm.

“I can track her down and tell her to -”

“No,” was his sharp stab of a reply.

Gold shrank back.

Blinking out of his flash of harshness, Neal turned to him with nothing but softness and exhaustion in his eyes this time, and said, “No. Thank you.”

Gold gave a weak little smile. “No need to thank me,” he said, and then he sighed, lowered his voice and added, “For anything. Ever again, I think.”

“You really fucked me up, you know that?”

“Yes. I know. And I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

They watched and listened to the rain for a little while. Muscles, tendons and faces softening; breathing slowing and tears drying.

“But dad?”

Gold looked up at that softer face.

“I don’t want you to hate yourself.”

After recovering from the warm weight of those words and the terrific _thud_ with which they’d landed squarely in his chest, Gold forced a brave smile.

“Don’t you ever worry about me. That’s not how this works.”

“Yeah it is. It’s how we work.”

Gold took a moment to admire him then. Handsome and strong, smart and brave. And _incomprehensibly_ kind. Where had he gotten all of that from? How had he turned into this marvel of a human being?

“Traffic’s doable. I can drive us home tonight, if you want. It’s really no problem. I’m not tired.”

“I am. Motel, please.”

Gold huffed out a silent laugh. What a relief. Because exhaustion had hit him like a sack of bricks somewhere in between the words ‘traffic’ and ‘problem.’

“Hotel, you mean,” he replied, unwilling to spend one more second in a room with imitation wood paneling.

“I said motel.”

“That’s what _I_ said. Hotel.”

“You’re not funny,” Neal sighed, wrestling a little smile.

“I’m also not staying in that motel again.”

“Listen. I won’t ask you about how cozy you looked with the UFO people if we stay at the -”

“Alright. Motel.”

Gold turned the key in the ignition, and Neal turned the dial on the radio, and they drove their wounds and their heavy hearts, as gently as they could, back to their very dark, very brown rooms through the endless rain.

…

_“Emma.”_

He heard his voice first, then saw his inky shadow pass the orange curtain over the window. Neal, backlit by the bright lights in the parking lot. Gold pushed himself up from the bed just a bit, left elbow cracking painlessly.

“Emma, please, before you hang up, I want to ask you something. Please? Just listen for a second. I know I don’t deserve -”

A phonecall. Not a midnight rendezvous.

“… Thank you.”

Gold sank back down into the too-soft mattress and blinked up at the cracked ceiling. Neal had misjudged, or hadn’t even considered, the thickness of the window to the walkway that connected their rooms.

Should he cough? Turn on a light?

“I’m calling to tell you that I wanna stay in Boston.”

He shot up in a series of jerks and shocks, resting the weight of his upper body back on his arms. Straining to provide support where the soft mattress could provide none. Blood racing cold through his veins and eyes open painfully wide.

“Cause I don’t wanna leave. I’m gonna… I wanna be around. I’m not stalking you or anything, I-I won’t bother you. If I see you in town, I won’t talk to you. I won’t even text if you don’t want me to. Hell, if you tell me right now to leave town and never come back, I’d… It’s not what I want. But I would. So you have to tell me.”

“Cause I don’t… I want to stick around and be here. Live here. I like it here. You made me like it, made me feel like I could have a life here. I wanna thank you for that. And I’m not going to lie, I’m… I’m hoping one day, maybe you’ll… I don’t know, I… Maybe you’ll want to talk. But I don’t expect you to. I’d never make you. I guess what I wanna ask is… Please tell me if you want me to leave town. I’ll leave if you want me to. Do you want me to leave?”

He didn’t speak. For so long. Gold’s head hurt. A sharp, stabbing pain made worse by the glacial pause in the —

“Alright. Thank you. And I’m… I’m sorry.”

Colder than he was before, Gold fell back down into his bed, pulled the bedsheets up over his shoulders and felt his chest grow hollow, hollow, hollower with each footstep as Neal made his way back to his own room.

He wouldn’t sleep.


	18. Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold learns a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very grateful for your comments and kudos, and your good thoughts. Thank you so much for reading this, and for the support you've given. Some of you for years now. I can hardly believe it, but it's true, and it means the world to me. Your kind comments are so wonderful, and I feel terrible for not responding these last few times. Please know that your words have helped me a lot, and made me smile. Thank you.

The actual argument came and went fairly quickly. Quietly, too, since neither of them were wont to make a scene in a diner over a mediocre breakfast. Neal declared his intentions about halfway through their first coffees. Gold understood that it was a declaration. Not a question, nor a request for advice. It was a calm, _I’m staying here in Boston._ A quick cut. But a cut nonetheless.

Gold started off by listing, not without audible dismay, a series of nouns, such as: Rent! Insurance! Bills! College! What _about_ that? Was that not what this gap year of sorts had been leading up to? He pleaded for patience, for reason. Everything he could think to mention that wouldn’t make his voice crack, that wasn’t engineered solely to cause guilt. That last bit in particular required some restraint. He was upset. He was hurt, and frightened of change and emptiness.

His objections bounced clean off Neal’s aura of steadfast determination, one after the other. It was frustrating - infuriating almost - but _they were in a diner_. Gold would rather have suffered a quiet simmering heart attack right then and there, than join the ranks of men who made scenes in roadside diners.

Collected, calm, and glowing with a contained energy, Neal made short work of things. College wasn’t going anywhere, he said, as he held his father’s terrified gaze with kind eyes. Work wasn’t going to be a problem, he promised, so bills were unlikely to be one either. He’d saved up, he said. He’d met people, he said. Good people. He’d make friends of them. He’d be alright.

But _alright_ had lost all meaning to Gold as he sat there and felt sick sticky certainty continue to pool in his stomach. The last bit of fight left in him came out in a shaky sigh.

“Look for a college nearby. Come home on the weekends.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Well, I don’t approve of what you do want,” he mumbled, staring at an old stain on the rim of his otherwise pristine coffee cup.

“I know, dad. But I’m not asking.”

And there, in a bustling diner under a gloomy sky, a lesson long overdue presented itself: Holding can turn into pulling, and not everything snaps back into place when it does. More often than not, if you pull at something, it will simply tear.

So there was nothing for him to say, really. He wouldn’t pull anymore. By the time his coffee was half cold, Gold felt defeat draped all over him. Like a heavy, itchy woolly coat.

If defeat had stages, he thought, at least he’d made some progress. He’d covered Denial the night before, staring unblinking up at the ceiling with a rock the size of a fist in his chest, stupidly thinking _no, no, no, you misheard_. He would deal with Anger on his own. After all, it wasn’t Neal he was upset with. Gold would catch his reflection in the cold hallway mirror sooner or later, and fury would flicker and take over from there, so he considered that all but crossed off the list. Then there was Bargaining, wasn’t there? But he’d tried that. College, and home for the weekends: no deal.

Done with his pancakes, Neal signaled for a coffee refill. Defeat settled heavy. Heavier with every passing second. He wasn’t asking. It was done. He was gone.

Gold gathered his strength. Swallowed a knot in his throat.

Bargaining: reprise.

“Son?”

“Hm?”

“I’m helping you find a place to stay.”

Neal’s mouth dropped open. After a second or two of silence, he just about managed the beginnings of a _what_.

“I’m not letting you stay in some moldy death trap. We’ll have to look away from the city center, of course. How’s your car holding up? Is public transportation a joke, here?”

“You…” He looked very lost and silly for a moment, but then he seemed to inflate a bit. Back straighter. Brow smooth. “I don’t need your help, dad.”

Gold nearly groaned. He bit his tongue instead, and shot his son a naked, pleading look. Neal blinked back at him for a moment, his eyes fluttering over his face as if for a tell. A catch.

“So you’re alright with this?” he asked, voice quiet and low.

Gold shook his head, but didn’t really answer in words. “I want you safe. And happy.”

Neal grew a tentative celebratory smile. The sight did make Gold feel a bit better. It really did. It would never, ever, not.

_But a cut nonetheless._

“Thanks. I know this is hard for you, but I need to do this.”

“I’ll take care of the security deposit. First few months’ rent, too.”

Neal let out a shocked, “Dad! No, that’s -”

“And you’ll want a proper bed,” he decided, remembering many a night spend on a thin lumpy mattress kicked into the corner of a drafty room.

“I can pay for my own furniture! I know you need to take care of me, it’s important to you, I know. But this isn’t about you.”

Gold said nothing. Instead, he gulped down a borderline scalding mouthful of black coffee, and nodded noncommittally.

_But it’s me you’re running from._

…

So they kept their motel rooms for a while longer. Gold was thankful for the brave little radiator by the wall next to the bed. It kicked into gear with a sputter and then glared the room hot the very second the rain puddles in the parking lot froze over, turning it into a pratfall minefield. It was Winter, come back to rudely remind the citizens of Boston that it was still very much its turn to rule the hemisphere.

The search went far too smoothly. It only took one full day of crinkly newspapers spread open on Gold’s bed, and Neal tapping away on his cellphone with a studious look about him, for serious options to pop up. A large part of him - in fact, most of him - had hoped his son would see reason before they found that unlikely little studio apartment a ways from the city center.

No such luck.

The duplex studio was undeniably there, and it was undeniably reasonable. Calls and visits were made, papers were signed, and all too soon it was his. Gold helped as much as Neal allowed in the moment, and acted very much as if there was even an astronomically small chance that he would let the boy pay him back.

From there on out, everything else progressed at what Gold felt was a very unfair pace.

First, the ride home, to fetch Neal’s car and his things. Gold had dreaded it. If the contract had seemed final, this just felt morbid. But Neal, bless him, labored to keep his old da’s spirits up. He smiled nearly the entire way. He chattered to him sweetly, and he was so, _so_ much the awestruck little boy with grateful, greedy eyes taking in the pile of presents on Christmas morning. Bittersweet. Heavy on the bitter.

And that night, he cooked for the both of them. He’d missed that. They sat in their living room and watched National Geographic with big bowls of spaghetti in their laps, and they didn’t talk about anything very important, but it didn’t feel as if they were avoiding anything either. But they were, really. Or rather, Gold was; he knew he could spend the rest of his life apologizing, and it still wouldn’t suffice.

In any case. That evening of talking but not really talking together was nice. Warm. Home.

It was the quiet trip back to Boston, with his son’s belongings spread between their two cars, that made him feel worn and hopeless. In the dry chill of his car, without Neal’s excited chatter to drown out his inner voice, exhaustion announced itself and sank heavy onto his sore shoulders. He supposed he had been kicked around a fair bit the past few weeks. Made sense to feel tired.

He had been rendered nearly speechless with unimaginable joy when he saw Neal standing in front of him after too many days without him. Finding out why he looked so very pale and small in that moment, then, was a terrible shock. In a flash, his head had filled with awful urgent terms like custody, alimony, shotgun wedding, in-laws. Yes, over that last few days, he’d been swept up in emergency and alarm, chewed up, then spat back out into an emptier world.

And in the underpass, with Neal’s car trailing somewhere behind him, and what remained of this dark winter’s evening straight ahead, a thought, very much unbidden, rose from his memories.

An image of a tiny hand, making a grab for his nose. A woolen blanket. A small, soft hat. Big, glistening eyes and a toothless smile.

He felt strangely homesick.

…

The building was situated near the corner of a busy street and an even busier one, but Neal insisted the traffic didn’t bother him. Gold found that hard to believe. The boy had slept in a room at the back of a house in a half-comatose little town for most of his life. Here, his bedroom was his living room was his kitchen, and it all looked out onto a never-ending stream of traffic. They hadn’t even gotten him decent curtains yet.

The room was warm, despite the huge window and its aforementioned lack of curtains. There was no TV, no dining table, no chairs. Not yet. And the couch needed replacing. The single floor lamp that illuminated their last meal together had seen better days, too.

But it was a good space. He’d seen it in daylight - and there had been plenty of it, bouncing off the pristine white walls, which were freshly painted, and the large rectangular wall-mounted mirror the previous tenant had left behind.

And on the wood-patterned linoleum floor with his back against the wall and his legs stretched in front of him, bad ankle cushioned by a folded up fleece blanket, Gold sat and ate the greasiest, best pizza he’d ever eaten in his entire life. Despite that fact, he was very much aware that he looked rather grim in the moment. He could feel it from the tension in the skin of his forehead. He could feel it, but he couldn’t help it. That was why he didn’t speak much.

Because Neal seemed happy. Grateful. Gold didn’t want to open his mouth to conjure up a verbal black hole, as he sometimes did, and ruin the night for both of them. From the way Neal had been quietly guiding the conversation, Gold trusted that he understood his dumb little predicament. On some level, at least.

So his boy, his son, with his legs folded all carefree and childlike, and the corners of his mouth stained red with tomatoes, asked him, “Did you leave notes for me every time you went out?”

“I didn’t want you to come back to an empty house and not know where to find me.”

“That’s…”

Concerned, Gold looked up and saw that Neal was staring at him with warm-eyed compassion.

“I didn’t want to - … I wanted to hurt you. But I didn’t want to _want to_ hurt you.”

Gold put his half-eaten slice down onto the lid of the cardboard box it had come in. He wasn’t hungry anymore. But for three whole seconds, his fingers trembled like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“That’s why I didn’t call. Even when I cooled off. I didn’t want you to think you could just do what you did and…”

Neal sighed and let his head fall forward by just a few degrees. With his shoulders slouching like that, he looked so much smaller. It made his heart ache.

“And get away with it,” Gold finished for him, as his cheeks face flushed hot with shame. “I understand. I don’t blame you. I’m sorry I put you through that. I’m sorry for… everything. The lies. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” said Neal, ushering him into silence with a wave of his hand and a shake of his head. “That’s not why I’m telling you this. What I need is I… I need you to know that me staying here, isn’t that. It’s not me hurting you. I don’t want to do that anymore. I need you to understand that.”

His mumbled, “I understand,” was reflexive. It was a lie. His aching chest was the truth.

“Really?”

He tried to swallow his pathetic nonsense down before he went and burdened his son with it, but — “Yes, but none of this would have happened if I hadn’t lied to you. I wouldn’t have chased you away. We wouldn’t be sitting here in… in your… new home.”

“We might still be sitting here!” Neal exclaimed with wide eyes, waving his arms in frustration. “You just wouldn’t have that hangdog look on your face, like me, living my actual damn life, is a punishment designed specifically for you!”

Gold was shocked into an open-mouthed silence, and then, as an intense wave of love washed over him, he heard himself laugh. A quick, breathy burst of laughter that surprised him.

Neal smiled slowly, as if he had just decided that there was hope for his moping old father yet. “I’m serious, dad.”

God. His son was so much smarter, so much braver than him in these things. And he was glad.

“Alright,” he sighed, giving a tired smile. “I believe you. I do. But I still think you’re rushing into this. And I don’t want you to get your heart broken again, waiting for this girl.”

“I’m not waiting for her.”

Gold decided to call Neal’s bluff with a sharp quirk of his eyebrow. And poor lovestruck Neal’s pokerface shattered, just like that.

“Fine. Maybe a little. I just think she needs to know someone’s around, even if…” He trailed off again, and looked down at his forgotten slice of mushroom pizza. “She needs that. She needs to know someone’s there. I still want to live here for my own reasons. I can want one thing for two reasons. We’ve been through this.”

Very briefly, yes, constrained by decorum in a public place. But Gold was too tired to argue. Why would he want to, anyway? He didn’t want to pull. So he wouldn’t.

“You’re right. We have.”

Neal smiled again. There was a hint of embarrassed pink on his cheeks now. He was adorable. He was wonderful.

“I’m gonna call a lot,” Neal promised.

Gold nudged the pizza box towards his sweet son.

“You’d better.”

As if conjured by the very vaguest mention of telephony, his phone began to rattle and chirp on the floor. Startled, Gold snatched it up to put an end to that horrid sound, but it went silent before he even had to go fidgeting with any buttons.

It was a text message. He read, _Space Girl_ , and suddenly she was there again, in his brain. Smiling, all bundled up, the tip of her nose red, and her eyes incomprehensibly, perfectly blue.

_Hey! :) How’re you holding up?_

“What’s that?”

The image shattered.

Gold overcompensated for his temporary mental absence with a very loud, “Hm?” and knew immediately that he’d fucked up. He’d felt his eyes go approximately saucer-sized, and Neal now had a bemused grin on his face.

“Never heard you get a text before. Important?”

“Just, ah… Someone checking in.”

Neal raised his brow. “Thought it was the phone company or something.”

Well, fuck. That was what he should have said, then. Good to know. Entirely too late. Useless now. Thank you very much. And now he had to brace himself, because there, leaning his weight back on his palms, ignoring the very last slice of pizza in favor of pinning his father against the wall with an unrelenting stare of concentrated curiosity, Neal was preparing to strike.

“It’s Belle, right?” asked his apparently psychic son. “The UFO girl. That’s her name?”

“I think that’s it, yes,” he mumbled, reaching for his own abandoned slice of pizza, now perfectly cold. “Yes. Belle.”

As if he’d ever been bad with names.

“You two friends?”

“Acquaintances. She helped ask around for you.”

“Oh. Don’t know much about her, but she seems cool.”

Gold hummed a sound that signified some mixture of _I see_ , and _is she?_ , and _she is._ It was a dumb, dumb sound.

“I saw you two as I walked up. You looked really… at ease, or something. I don’t think I ever saw you talk to anyone like that.”

For some reason, that struck Gold as just a little bit sad. He wasn’t sure how or why, but it did, and he felt guilty for it, and he didn’t know what to say. So the silence went on for a few seconds longer. It was a relative silence, actually. Outside, three distinct car horns honked, and somewhere in the neighborhood, a car alarm screamed.

Neal responded to his sudden quiet with an understanding nod. “It made me feel better, seeing you like that. Didn’t expect you to befriend the UFO people, but -”

“I didn’t befriend anyone, let alone the UFO people,” Gold interrupted, feigning offense.

“Hey, no judgement. I’m just glad you found a hobby,” Neal teased with a shrug.

“The cold air does me good, that’s all.”

Gold had put a growl in his voice, but he was smiling. He couldn’t not smile. Neal looked so smug, and so proud, and so grown.

The boy rolled his eyes at him now, and nodded at the phone in his hand. “Just text your friend back.”

“Acquaintance,” he ‘corrected’, as his smile stretched just a little bit wider, and he felt the skin of his brow smooth just a touch.

“Whatever.”

But he would. He would text Belle French and tell her that things were alright. Not because they were just yet. Not because he truly, fully believed they _would_ be in the end - whenever that was.

But because his son was leaving home, and somehow he felt closer to him than before. Because his heart had been battered, but right then, right there, it was full, and it was warm. Because his pizza was cold, but it still tasted good.

Because, _“If something’s not impossible, then it’s possible;”_ and if that meant aliens, if it meant forgiveness, then it could mean that things could be alright, too.


	19. Still There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold and Belle catch up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 <3 <3 <3 Thank you for reading.

The house cut a gloomy shape against the dark sky the night of his return. It looked orange more than pink in the glow of the old street lights, and the windows were pitch black. He knew better, but it still seemed to him that there was nothing beyond the facade. Nothing at all.

Gold had spent the past weeks thinking of his house as empty. He realized now that he had been mistaken. All this time, it had been haunted. Not empty. Not then. But it was now, and that bothered him less in some sense. It felt less lonely now that the ghosts were gone. Wasn’t that odd?

He looked up, letting his head fall back with a tired groan that turned visible in the cold. He didn’t want to go in, ghosts or no. He simply didn’t see the point. Up above the roofline, with just a pair of thin white slivers and no other clouds in sight, the sky struck him as terribly tall that night. Why was that? Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Why wasn’t he inside yet?

His body felt hollow as he stood there with his hand on the roof of his car, letting his fingertips get icy numb. With his other hand, he checked his phone for the time. Not yet nine. Not yet nine and a clear sky, almost.

He wondered if she would want an update. He vaguely remembered her saying as much. If not the night he left, then some other time. He didn’t particularly feel like talking, but…

He could make his mind up on the way to the field, if he took the long way there. He didn’t have to stop and get out of the car if he didn’t want to. But he did have to drive. It was that, or stand there gaping at his cardboard cutout house until it seemed habitable. If it got just a little bit colder, he would even settle for mostly real.

So he got back into his car and backed out of the driveway, calm with the knowledge that he could always keep driving if he wanted to. He’d done a lot of it over the past few days. He could do a little more.

Neglected asphalt crackled like gravel under the cadillac’s tires as he parked it a good distance away from the gate. Gold got out, cane in hand, and closed the door as quietly as he could. He could see, if he craned his neck, that there was warm light up ahead and some figures surrounding it. Not that many. But it was clear that if she was there, she wasn’t alone, and while that made him glad, it also made him nervous. He wasn’t in the mood for other people. Other people, other than her.

He stood at the gate a little while longer. Just a minute, maybe, to put on his leather gloves and get over himself. And that took long enough for the breeze to start stinging his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It was almost enough to consider a silly woolly hat.

Then he walked - slowly, but taking care not to do it in an undead shuffle sort of way - towards the fire. As he neared, he noticed one figure whose outline differed slightly from that of the others, in that it included a pompom placed squarely on top, like a cherry on a sundae.

Belle.

Something crept into his consciousness when he saw her there; it announced itself with a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. It felt foreign and frightening for a moment, but then he recognized it: Infatuation. Bumped out of the picture by Emergency for a while, but not gone, evidently.

Gold released a shivering breath and shook his head brusquely to clear it.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. No-one had. She was in conversation with someone, and a twisting feeling in his chest screamed, _‘Retreat!’_ He could drive on for a little bit, and then head home after all. He could wait for sleep in his living room, perhaps with a book and the television on quietly in the background. A glass of wine. Neal said he’d call, so he could —

She had gotten unstuck from the conversation she was having, with her eyes going up, up, up sky high. A fraction of a second later, having found nothing of note up there, they moved down again. Peering over the man’s shoulder.

And settling on him.

“Hey!” she called out, her voice small over the distance. “You’re back!”

Gold’s heart, a tired cliché, jumped at the smile in her tone. He raised his hand in greeting, took a deep breath to steady himself, and walked into the bubble of warmth around the fire basket.

And into the barrage of questions that awaited him there.

“How did it go?” asked Belle, with her beautiful bright eyes perfectly round. “What happened? How’s your son? How’s the girl? Did you talk? Take my chair, I’ll get another one. Tea?”

God, he’d missed that accent.

“No, that’s alright, I won’t -”

But his slight hesitation had not gone unnoticed. She had already turned towards her little table by the fire to fetch him that tea.

“Sit,” she urged, smiling over her shoulder.

He obeyed, and stifled a throaty sound of pain as he sank down into the slightly-too-low chair. He looked around for the man she’d been talking to; he’d joined tonight’s other attendees - all reasonable looking men and women with expensive cameras on tripods. He looked older than him by at least two decades, judging by the white beard. … He hated that that made him feel better.

Gold didn’t have much time to simmer, however. It wasn’t long until he was rewarded with a styrofoam cup of pure warmth in his hands. It felt nice through his gloves.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

When she unfolded one of the flimsy lawn chairs and began the task of finding a good spot for it next to his, Gold had a moment to take her in. Her hat was a deep blue, her dark hair lay swept over her left shoulder, and her jacket was puffy and looked incredibly warm. Still braving this cold with woolen tights, though. Maybe she had on more than one pair?

In any case, it had been a while, but she looked the same. Or better. But he couldn’t remember her looking worse, so that was a confusing thought to have, and he tried to forget it at once.

“There,” she said, plopping down into her chair and angling it a little more towards him as she settled. “Go ahead.”

Her big eyes and her careful hopeful smile had him wanting to look, not talk. But he hadn’t forgotten her questions either. Or some of them. And he did have quite the update to give.

“Neal’s doing alright. We, ah… The girl - I mean, Emma. That’s her name. Emma… Turns out she wasn’t pregnant.”

Belle’s eyes went even bigger. “Oh. False alarm?”

“False alarm.”

And he looked into the fire for a moment, thinking it was a good thing he hadn’t had the time to get the cot down from the attic before Neal got that text. Getting it back up there would have been a chore.

“So that’s -” But her voice died, and her eyes went scanning his face with slow determination. When she spoke again, she spoke more quietly. “That’s good.”

Gold hummed assent. And she’d heard him, and nodded in response, but her face remained inscrutable. He tried to decipher her expression, but when it began to strike him as suspicion, he was shocked into an uncharacteristically impolite, “What?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling to reassure him. “It’s just, you looked a little bit…” She trailed off to give him a chance to catch on. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. “… Sad about it.”

“Oh, no!” he said, sitting upright with a jolt, nearly spilling his tea. “It’s good. I’m glad. Of course I’m glad.”

“I didn’t mean, like, in a crazy way! Just that maybe you’d sort of gotten used to the idea a little bit.”

“Ah, no no, no no no,” he stammered, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. It’s just…”

He wished he hadn’t left that sentence open-ended. She was waiting for him to speak. Perfectly patient, and with nothing but kindness in her eyes, but he felt silly. Weak.

“He’s not coming home,” he sighed, melting back into his chair to sit less rigid. More human. “He’s moving out.”

A few seconds of silence, and then a gentle, “Moving out? Like, _out_? For good?”

It still sounded terrible. He looked away, into the fire, and swallowed. “That’s his intention, yes. He’s looking to live and work there for a while, at least. We found him a little studio. Couldn’t talk him out of it, so I figured I’d… I’d better help.”

“Wow…”

There was something in that quiet whisper that compelled him to look. She was staring at him with concern, and something else. Something warmer.

“That must have been rough for you,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Her words froze him in place for a moment, and he didn’t understand why. They were unexpected. Why? Had he forgotten what it was like to talk to her, or had the unpleasant voice in his head gotten louder in her absence? Like undergrowth reclaiming a little path he’d been taking for granted. And he’d tripped.

“Ah, yes, well,” he began, when worry began to show on her face. “Can’t say it was on my list of preferred outcomes.”

“But you still helped him find a place.”

Gold shrugged and mumbled something about fire hazards and black mold. But he’d heard something kind and glowing in Belle’s voice, and it made him feel… Made him feel… Good?

“To be absolutely clear, I’m not disappointed that my son will _not_ be becoming a teenage father.”

Belle laughed a soft, embarrassed laugh and said, “No, of course not. I know that. I didn’t mean it like… Y’know.”

“Not in the crazy way. Understood.”

“Does this mean he’s patched things up with Emma?” she asked, her nose crinkling in disbelief.

“God, no. No, I don’t think that’s in the cards for now. I can’t imagine it would be.”

“Poor things.”

He nodded.

“And you and Neal? How are you two doing?”

Gold took a deep breath and cast his gaze up at the sky for a moment. The clouds from earlier were gone now. The looming darkness of his house no longer weighed down on him. He’d been promised a text and e-mailed pictures of a set of fairy lights strung up above Neal’s brand new bed.

“Better.”

“That’s wonderful.” She smiled a radiant smile, one that wanted to be bigger than it could be. It was infectious.

“It is.”

“And what about you?” she asked, rearranging herself in her chair, uncrossing and crossing her legs again. “Are you really holding up alright? Or am I seeing you in shock right now?”

He made a face. “Well, now I’m not so sure anymore.”

When she laughed, his poker face shattered and he broke out into a proud grin. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to make her laugh. How rewarding it was.

“But seriously.”

“But seriously,” he sighed, wanting desperately to be anything but. “Children grow up. That’s… rather the point, come to think of it. I suppose they didn’t teach me that in law school.”

“Ah, yeah. Late bloomer, right?”

“Dead last.”

He had to look away now. Her smile was too much. The electric edge to her voice was too much. His tea was getting cold.

“Maybe we should get you a kitten.”

He nearly choked.

“Oh, my God! You okay?” she asked, both with genuine concern and delighted laughter in her voice as she leaned closer to put a hand on his shoulder.

Wrestling down a smile, he grumbled, “Absolutely,” and wiped away a drop of tea from his chin.

“I hear you. Puppies it is.”

“Plural?”

“Absolutely. Or a ferret, maybe?”

It was getting harder to keep up that frown, now that she had that look of a lion cub practicing its stalking technique. It melted down every hard part of him, leaving him warm and boneless.

“Not interested,” he said, hoping to egg her on.

“Then maybe a turtle? Or a cockatoo! Maybe you should just keep a whole bunch of birds.”

“Maybe I should keep -”

But he snapped his mouth shut and bit his tongue, because the true ending to that sentence was: _you_. The few seconds it took him to come up with something else under the glare of her twinkling eyes and smug grin were an exquisite sort of torture.

“Racing pigeons.”

She burst out laughing. He stopped holding back his smile. And they just sat there for a moment, listening to the crackling of the logs in the fire basket, and the plentiful _clicks_ of shutter buttons on cameras aimed at what Gold guessed was the Milky Way. Not much to see from where he was sitting.

His eyes soon strayed to Belle’s face, where her smile looked a little sleepier now. She had her eyes glued to the stars above. As they often were. And a question rose up from the heart of him.

“Belle?”

She turned that dreamy smile to him, eyebrows up. “Hm?”

“How have you been?”

“Oh. Fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“That’s good. Didn’t, ah… Didn’t see anything?” He illustrated his question with a glance at the night sky.

She rolled her eyes, and her smile turned lopsided. “Yeah. Mothman.”

He laughed despite his confusion. Not at the joke. It wasn’t the joke. He understood. It was everything around it, behind it. The cynical tone, the change in her smile. It was the pang of something unpleasant in his chest.

“I’m serious. I’m curious to know if you’ve seen anything.”

Her face went blank in surprise. “Oh. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He’d joked about it too much. Hadn’t he? But she’d always laughed. And now he half wanted to ask if he’d gone too far at some point in the past, and he half wanted to glue his mouth shut forever.

“Nothing huge, or anything. But two nights ago, there - … It might have been a plane. It disappeared behind the trees before I could get a good look at it.”

“Oh.”

“So probably nothing. There was supposed to be a meteor shower yesterday, though! But it rained all day and night, so…”

“Ah.”

The silence was a little awkward this time, and he couldn’t bear it for very long. So he cleared his throat to get her attention, looked as serious as he could, and deadpanned, “I wonder what the Mothman was doing around these parts.”

She snorted, and her grin made him feel glad for chasing away the silence.

“I do think about that sometimes, y’know. How funny it would be if I end up seeing… I don’t know. Anything but aliens.”

“A werewolf, perhaps,” said Gold, looking further downfield, in the distance, where the grass met the thicket and one could easily imagine a pair of glowing golden eyes appear.

“That would be awesome. Or Bigfoot.”

“Or a witch. On a broomstick.”

“Or a vampire.”

Gold put on that same serious look from before and deepened his voice. “Who says you haven’t met one already?”

“You’re taking an awful long time to get to the point, then! You’ve had plenty of opportunity.”

Gold swallowed a comment about playing with his food and hoped his face wasn’t as red as it was warm. And he wasn’t sure if, “Late bloomer, remember?” was any better, but he’d gone and said it anyhow, and it had made her giggle, so it was alright.

“Right. Sorry, Count. Take your time.”

And when silence fell that time, it fell softer.

He now held ice tea in his hands. Just a sip or two left, and then, Gold knew, he would have to leave. He wanted to be home when Neal called. He didn’t want to have to excuse himself from the conversation. He didn’t want to find out reception had gotten worse out in the field in his absence. But he didn’t want to announce his departure, either.

“Hey, um… You’re big on manners, right?”

Confused, Gold knitted his eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”

Belle’s eyes flitted over his face for a few seconds while she chewed on her lip in thought.

“I mean, can I be a bit rude for a second and invite myself over to your house?”

His brow flew up, and his heart skipped a beat.

“Not now!” she added, with a grin. “Just, in the evening, some time. It’s gonna be raining a lot.”

He looked so stupid. He knew he did. Just staring at her, eyes wide, mouth open, trying to parse the situation. Pity? Pity, probably, or intense, mind-altering boredom and consequent desperation.

But he would never in a million years decline, now would he? Because he’d almost forgotten, but it was all still there, wound up tight in his chest, sometimes in his stomach, sometimes in his throat. And as long as he kept it there…

“Of course. Any time.”

She grinned and cocked her head in a curious little expression of success. “Cool.”


	20. Favorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Belle has a chat with a friend, and evening visit with another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I love you. Thank you for reading, and for your comments. Had to split this up, because I was taking too long to finish it. Rest soon, hopefully. Hope you like. You're all great. <3 <3 <3

She must have done it a thousand times before: Her thumb pressed hard on the sharp edge of the scissors, the dark blue ribbon caught between, and then the quick pull. Fast and smooth, with a steady fearless pressure. The ribbon curled beautifully.

“How much is it?”

“Zero dollars and zero cents.”

“No, I can’t let you -”

“ _Leo_.”

Belle put on a stern look, though she knew that expression on her rarely worked the way it was supposed to. Today was no exception; Leo looked amused, not intimidated. But ‘amused’ got him to put his wallet away, so she didn’t think it was wrong to count it as a success this time.

“Thanks.”

“I think you’re being very brave.”

The cellophane sleeve around the bouquet crinkled as she arranged and twisted the curled ends of the ribbon together a little bit. For volume.

“Stupid. You can say stupid. It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Belle furrowed her brow. “What’s stupid about telling him how you feel?”

“Timing, first of all.”

Well, it wasn’t perfect, Belle agreed in silence. Then again, maybe it was. But she decided to keep her doubts to herself, taped a flower food packet to the cellophane and said, “I was surprised to hear you weren’t going with him.”

“He didn’t ask,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure he wants you to. He probably just doesn’t want to put you on the spot again. You did sort of… freak out, last time.”

Poor Leo, with his layers and layers of unironed clothes for the cold, his hair all messy and his eyes dull and red behind fingerprint-dirtied glasses, looked down at the flowers in shame. Her heart ached for him.

“Guess I did.”

The rain started up again outside with a suddenness that demanded their attention. Loud, relentless, as if it had never stopped at all.

“And you? Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

An unexpected pressure in her throat meant she had to answer with a shrug. Leo didn’t see though; he was busy admiring the peonies and delphiniums and lilies. Well, maybe not admiring them, actually. Belle thought he looked sort of daunted by them now.

“I’ve got the shop here,” she said, not really knowing what else to say, and not really wanting to think about it much. “And the field. And the library, and my dad.”

“And you got your stray back.”

“Excuse me?” Belle gasped, feeling her eyebrows shoot all the way up in shock.

Leo, unmoved by her outburst, calmly explained, “Your stray. The newest one. The one you tried so hard to lure back to -”

“Lure!?”

“ - the field, _way_ more than any of the others, me and Geoff included. That one. You know? The vaguely evil-looking one.”

Flustered, Belle didn’t know what incredibly wrong thing to address first. Part of the trouble was that she was woefully unprepared for that number of words to come out of Leo’s mouth in one go.

“I don’t know what you’re on about. He doesn’t look evil.”

“The wardrobe screams shady son of a bitch.”

“Does not. His clothes are just dark. … And expensive.”

“Well,” he sighed, scratching the back of his head. “I just don’t know what to make of him.”

The mood turned serious again, and Belle went looking for clues in the silence. The look on Leo’s face was one she recognized. It meant he’d grown tired of talking, but hadn’t yet said what he needed to, and hoped someone else would meet him halfway. Belle wanted to, but she wasn’t sure how.

“I know he’s hard to read,” she tried, cocking her head. “But there’s no big mystery, I don’t think. Not in a bad way, at least.”

“Yeah, listen, I just need to know you’re good.”

“Good? What do you mean?”

“Man, I don’t know,” he sighed. “Using your instincts. Being smart. Whatever.”

Belle understood now, and that understanding came with a warm smile. “You’re worried about me!”

“Nah,” he said, but his own smile told her different. “Jealous he’s your favorite now.”

She grinned, feeling her face warm. “You’re worried.”

“Fine. I’m worried.”

“He’s alright, Leo. He’s not perfect, but he’s not - … I don’t know what you think he is.” She thought about it for a second, scrunching her nose. “Dangerous? Is that it? Cause he’s not.”

“So you’re good?”

Belle grinned “I’m good.”

“Good,” said Leo, with a relenting smile that signaled the end of the discussion.

For as long as Belle had known him, he’d always kept most of his words close to his heart. Hence the flowers, at which he’d been throwing fearful glances for a while now.

“You’re gonna be fine, you know,” said Belle, gently nudging the bouquet across the counter.

But he still looked utterly unconvinced; he had his arms folded across his chest as if he wasn’t planning on taking the flowers after all. Ever.

“Really!” She ducked a bit to catch his downcast stare, and smiled. “I promise.”

Leo laughed sharply and shook his head. “Like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“Already did!” she chirped, and she walked around the counter to press the bouquet gently to his chest. “You don’t like to tell, so you show. And he knows that about you. And _I_ know for a fact that he likes that about you. So just show!”

Leo’s arms came up to support the bouquet until he was cradling it, almost. He still looked afraid, but at least he was holding the bloody flowers now. She was happy with that, and put her hands on his shoulders to give them a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re gonna be _fine._ ”

He stepped back out of her hold with a shaky, deep breath, and managed half a smile for her. “If you say so.”

“I do. Text me. Anything. An emoji’s fine.”

He flashed a thumbs up and a comically forced grin, and then he walked out into the afternoon downpour, not even bothering with the hood on his jacket. Or the hood on his hoodie. Or the hood on his other, thinner hoodie underneath.

Belle watched him through the glass of the window until he disappeared into grayness, and then she let go of a deep breath of her own.

_Strays._ She snorted, shook her head and made her way into the back room. Straight towards the kettle for a cup of tea.

Belle had met a lot of people who didn’t feel tied to any one place, that was true. They stumbled upon her out in that field for their own reasons, insomniacs and amateur astronomers and romantics alike. All Belle did was tell them they were welcome to come again. That was all. No luring involved. When they wanted to move on, they did. Soon, Geoff and Leo would too. Belle was happy for them. And she was also sad.

But she had no trouble feeling both of those things at once, and plopped an extra sugar into her mug precisely because both feelings called for it. The cube made an impact with her tea spoon, and the clattering sounded sharp above the steady rhythmic sound of the rain on the windows.

She couldn’t let go of the word. _Strays._ They weren’t strays. Least of all the not-very-evil-looking Mr Gold. He had a house, for one, and Belle smiled into her teacup then, because she was excited to see it that night. He had a family too; it was small and elsewhere at the moment, but that didn’t make it less of one. He was not a stray.

And the fact that it had taken a bit more effort to keep the man coming back to the field after he’d gotten what he’d come there for, well… that was on him for being stubborn. Or unsure of himself. Or stubborn about being unsure of himself. Belle hadn’t quite figured out which it was, yet, but maybe she wouldn’t have to anymore soon.

She sat at the table by the window with her steaming cup of tea and sipped slowly, peacefully, smiling, knowing there probably wouldn’t be anyone else in the shop today. She would close up a little earlier, get in a longer nap, and be good to go in case her exciting new friend was more of a night owl than he’d let on so far.

…

Bundled up and on her bike, the rain, cool and thin as mist, felt nice on her face. It made her think of the sea, of standing at the bow of a ship pushing on through the waves in the dead of night. A ship with a squeaky rear wheel.

She lifted up from the seat for a second, slightly loosened her grip on the handles, and stopped pedaling. There: sailing. Just like that. The wind ruffled her skirt and tried to blow her hair free from under her hat. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to close her eyes to try and perfect the illusion. It would be fine, she knew, just for a second or two. But something stopped her. She sat back down instead, and let the idea drift away again.

It had been a while since she’d been so wonderfully unbothered by the rain. Granted, this was barely a trickle, but there was no sitting out in a field in the tail end of winter if it was raining even a teensy bit. If it rained hard and long enough, the next few nights were ruined too, with the field turned into a quasi-swamp and the firewood damp whether she’d remembered to store it in the shed or not.

There always still a niggling little thing in the back of her mind that longed to know what sights she’d missed, sights stolen by rainstorms, by illness, by sleep. It had been with her for such a long time, she would have been shocked if it had disappeared. But really, tonight, it wasn’t that bad.

The moon hung somewhere behind her, glowing from behind the clouds, which were heavier and thicker up ahead. Maybe she’d meet the storm halfway. The scratched-up chrome dynamo-powered front light of her trusty old bike had died a while ago, and she hadn’t yet gotten round to getting one of those battery-powered lights. But the streets were well lit in the center of town. The lamps were clearly ancient though, and more than a few of them flickered through the night, but it was all the light she needed to navigate the narrow concrete seas of Storybrooke.

Her mind was buzzing, wide awake after her nap. She was tired, which wasn’t unusual, but she was far too excited to really feel it much, and she wasn’t sleepy in the least. There was a difference, and it mattered.

Even the afternoon’s nightmare seemed far away and vague now, a silent movie on a screen in the corner of a large room at most. It would grow ever more distant with every push of her legs and every lamppost she cruised past, until it was just another nightmare on the very big, very old and ugly pile of them.

She’d had them for a long time, see. Nightmares. She much preferred having them during naps, if she had to have them at all. Nightmares, no matter how horrid, were easier to chase off in daylight, and there was nothing she hated more than to wake up in tears surrounded by stillness and darkness.

There was no benevolent cosmic law stopping her from having one nightmare in the afternoon and one at night, of course. But that didn’t happen very often, thankfully. Hadn’t happened for the longest time, actually. When was - … The second time they met. Yeah. Definitely. Her head had been swimming in it all day that day. Made sense. Made total sense.

_Enough. Better things to think about._

And she pedaled a little harder, tilted her face up, angled it right into the needlepoint rain. She pushed away all thoughts about naps and nightmares, and instead latched on tight to the sparkling feeling of anticipation warming her bones from the inside out.

She turned the corner towards the part of town with the pretty houses, slowing down a little bit. Not because she wanted to, but because she knew she had to. The houses might have been fancier, but the roads had been neglected, and in the basket hanging from her handlebar (suffering through the potholes, uneven paving, and the shaking and jolting of her somewhat cavalier bicycling technique) was the fragile reason for her visit:

A proud little plant in a deep red ceramic pot. Cause she could hardly get him a puppy, right? But it was something, and she thought he _deserved_ something.

He’d looked so forlorn the night of his return. Belle knew that doing the right thing, even when it felt a little wrong, would always pay dividends in the long run. But she also knew the trouble with the universe: it took its sweet time to deliver more often than not, leaving a gap between a difficult decision and the ultimate reward. She hardly ever missed a chance to bridge that gap for someone. Even if her method was a little silly or naive (and mostly plant-based as it turned out) it was decidedly better than nothing, and it was no bother for her at all.

So why not?

Braking was always a bit of a screechy affair, and she did it carefully, mindful of the plant wobbling in her basket. Then she slid off her saddle and came to a complete standstill in front of Gold’s beautiful old house. She’d googled the address he’d given her earlier, and it had looked very pink in the picture. Here, in reality, as it stood tall under a canopy of heavy rainclouds, there was a bit of grimness to it.

But the windows on the ground floor were glowing yellow, warm and bright and inviting. So much so that she was starting to feel a bit cold out there, looking in. And that chilling breeze uncovered an honest little feeling that had gotten a lost underneath everything else that day.

She’d missed his company.

Belle pushed her bike up the stone path, kicked the stand down and made her way up to the front door, feeling happier with each step. She’d already pressed the doorbell when she realized with a start that she’d left the plant in the bike basket. The sound of a door closing inside the house sent her rushing back, grabbing the pot and nearly toppling her bike in her hurry. But she made it back just in time to see her host appear in the doorway.

“Hey!”

“Hiya!”

“Come in.”

Belle shuffled in after him, wiping her feet on the mat, staring at him a little shamelessly, because he seemed different somehow and she wanted to figure out why. With a bit of color to his cheeks, he looked far more rested than she’d ever seen him. He just seemed lighter, actually, in the warm light, without a heavy coat, no jacket, no vest.

Grinning, knowing how he might react, Belle decided it would be fun to just tell him. “You look well!”

Gold’s eyes went wide and he began to stammer, “Ah. Well, ah, th-thank you. You, ah… As do you. Can I take your co- …”

His voice died when his eyes drifted down to his present.

“For you,” she chirped, lifting the pot a little higher, inviting him to take it.

“Oh! Belle, thank you. You shouldn’t have. I - … Thank you.”

Belle shrugged out of her coat, threw it on the coat stand by the door, and tucked her gloves and hat in its pockets as deep as she could. As she took care of that, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking at the plant with definite worry carved into his brow.

“You’ll want to put this somewhere south-facing,” she explained, wondering if it was national _Look Frightened By A Plant_ day. “So, over there? That’s your kitchen?”

Gold followed her nod at the open door at the end of the hall. After a short but conspicuous pause, he replied, “Ah… Yes, actually,” and looked at her a little curiously for a split second. “Come on through.”

Her footsteps on the hardwood sounded hollow and pleasant to her ears. In the kitchen, which was clean, cosy and charmingly dated, Belle scouted around for a suitable spot.

“On the counter over there?” she said, pointing at the free space on the counter below the window. “Or on that table, maybe!”

“The table, I think. Will it get enough light there?”

The wooden table, round and lovingly worn, looked like it would catch plenty of light for most of the day. It was a golden sort of wood, and she couldn’t wait to see how rich the royal red of the pot would look against it in the afternoon sunlight.

“It’s perfect.”

He smiled, quietly agreed, “Perfect,” and deposited the heavy red pot right in the middle of the table.

_Actually perfect,_ Belle thought to herself with a big grin. She admired the scrappy little plant as it stood there proudly in its new home, with its thorny stems, strong green leaves, and tiny little buds just waiting to burst into color when the days began to grow longer and the time was right.

“Euphorbia milii,” she said, in the tone of someone introducing one dear friend to another. “It’s from Madagascar, and it can bloom for ages if it gets enough light.”

“It will bloom?”

“Mhm. Start watering it more in spring, and you’ll see! But don’t overwater. And always make sure the water can drain from the pot.”

Gold hummed an interested sound and pulled out a chair from under the table. He had to wait for a good second or five, though, for Belle to realize he’d pulled it out for _her_.

“Oh! Thanks,” she laughed sheepishly, and sat down. She really, really shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got tea, coffee, water, wine…”

“Wine sounds nice. Red? If that’s alright.”

He smiled and seemed pleased. “Of course.”

“Thanks!”

He moved, without his cane, behind the small island counter, then ducked and disappeared entirely.

“How, uh… How often do I water it?”

Somehow it was easier to pick up on the nuances in his voice with his head inside a cupboard like that. Belle could hear his nerves clearly. In her voice, the tell would have been a definite tremble. In his, it betrayed itself with an ever so slightly higher pitch, and a hesitancy in between words and sentences. His tone matched his worried looks out in the hallway, she realized, and she felt a smile grow on her face, suddenly and keenly aware of her fondness of him.

“Not that often, don’t worry,” she said, raising her voice a bit to make sure he could hear her over there with his head still in the cupboard. “If the first couple of inches of soil are dry, you can water it.”

He reappeared from behind the counter with an unopened bottle of wine in his hands, and his face pink from the effort. “Right. So I’d just poke the soil, then?”

Belle tried hard not to laugh. “Yup.”

He brought over two wine glasses, a shiny mechanical corkscrew and the bottle to the table. “And make sure the water drains?”

“You’ve got it! It’s not a difficult plant. It can take a bit of abuse, really. No worries.”

“That’s comforting,” he sighed as he settled into the chair next to hers. But just as he reached for the wine, his eyes grew wide, and he rushed to add, “Not that I’m planning on mistreating it.”

“Course not!” she laughed. “But you can’t mess up, either. I know it’ll do great here.”

“Alright, then.”

Oh, but he didn’t sound convinced at all. Belle was sure he was doing his best to appear confident, but she’d seen his _actual_ smile before. It was huge, it was bright, it was infectious and excitingly Cheshire Cat-like. And this weak little twitch of the corners of his mouth did not have her fooled.

“You won’t kill it,” she promised, making her voice a bit lower to sound more serious, and she reached out to touch his shoulder for reassurance.

It seemed to have the opposite effect at first; he froze under her touch. But only for a second. Then he gave a soft little laugh, and began to focus on uncorking and pouring the wine, which he did very deftly. She took her hand back, not wanting to make him spill.

“There you go,” he said, placing a generous glass of red in front of her.

Maybe she’d taken too big of a first sip, but in that moment, Belle felt herself fill up with warmth for him, and his endearing nerves, and his questions and his manners. She knew it would take a little longer to get him to loosen up tonight, but he would. He always did. He just had to melt a bit first, and then he’d start joking and teasing and challenging her, and — _God_ , he was so much fun! And she’d been so bored! And she was so incredibly pleased he was back, she could hardly stop smiling.

“Good wine,” she declared, even though she’d never bothered forming any sort of opinion on wine before. It was worth it to see his nervous little smile turn more genuine - proud, almost - and Belle was glad for the progress. She wasn’t quite having a drink with her good friend the Cheshire Cat just yet, but the night was young, and she’d get there.

They’d get there. She was sure.


	21. Favorite II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening progresses, and Belle grows ever more playful. Or unrestful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all very wonderful and very sweet, and I love you all very much. Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and commenting. It really makes it all worthwhile. <3 <3 <3

The straggling storm had caught up and reached the kitchen windows behind her, rapping at the glass with gentle rhythmic taps of rain, plentiful and steady.

“Really, thank you. You shouldn’t have gone through the trouble. Not for me.”

Belle would have groaned if it hadn’t been for the mouthful of wine occupying her mouth. But she must have made a face despite herself; Gold looked as if he’d noticed something.

She swallowed her ambitious sip, suppressed the little eye twitch that naturally followed and said, “I disagree,” before he could ask if something was wrong, which it wasn’t. Not really.

Except maybe, maybe definitely, for sure for that tone. The tone he had used a few times to accuse her - very politely and charmingly and in a roundabout way, of course - of spending time with him out of pity, and not much more. That sad tone Belle so wished was theater, but felt in her heart was genuine.

He smiled, a little embarrassed. “Of course.”

In hopes of skipping the likely feedback loop of _reallys_ and _yes reallys_ and _thank yous_ and _it’s nothings_ that night, and possibly many more of those in the future, she added, “And don’t think you need to get me anything in return, alright?”

With his eyes big and his mouth open just a touch, Gold looked decidedly caught. She’d expected a clever joke, or a gentle ribbing, or some more of that exhausting self-deprecation at least, but no.

“Do you have super human speed or something? You sort of look like you went and got me a gift while I blinked.”

“No!” he laughed sheepishly, jolting out of his silence. “No, of course not. I ah… I won’t be getting you anything, if you insist.” He paused and looked at the plant again, and reached out to gently touch a leaf with the tip of a finger. “Though I disagree with you on _that._ ”

“The sap is an irritant,” she warned.

“That’s alright. So is this sap.”

“Oh my God,” she groaned, half collapsing in laughter. 

Before he managed to hide it behind his wineglass, Belle was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of his secret smile, and in a flash, she couldn’t remember what it was that had bothered her so briefly before. Whatever it was, it was washed away, just like that.

Everything began to feel a little easier and familiar after that, with lower voices, softer postures, and the conversation finding its own way like water following the riverbed. It meant she could broaden her focus, look around the room and take in her surroundings.

There weren’t that many signs of inhabitance. She couldn’t even smell a hint of what he’d had for dinner, and there was no clutter to get nosy about, nor had he done much decorating. Except for one thing. On the dresser up against the wall stood a picture frame, golden and ornate. In it, a school picture of a little dark-haired boy with a smile that was all-in, and teeth that weren’t just yet. It was so incredibly infectious a smile that she found herself grinning back at it, as if it would be rude not to.

“That’s Neal, right? So cute.”

Gold followed her nod, and when his stare landed on the picture, his face softened a little more. “Yeah.”

“I think I can see the resemblance there.”

A glimpse of the boy in the picture crept into Gold’s smile. Genetically infectious, apparently. Belle wanted to laugh.

“How is he? You’re keeping in touch, right?”

“Yeah, we just talked earlier. He’s well. Actually, he’s already found a job, so that’s… That’s good.”

“And quick!” she said, raising her brow in surprise.

“I thought so too. It’s temporary, and can’t imagine it pays much, but… It’s a job. It’ll do for now.”

“What sort of job?”

His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “Pizza delivery,” he sighed. “Good pizza, actually, just a few minutes’ walk from his studio apartment. My last night there, turns out he wasn’t just getting us dinner.”

Belle’s eyes grew wide. “He asked on the spot?”

“Mhm. He did say he’d sort it all out. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

He trailed off, stared into the middle distance for a short moment, then shrugged and smiled at her. A little pained, though, and she understood that Neal’s big sudden jump into the deep end of the pool was still a sore thing.

“It sounds like he’s gonna do fine.”

“He should do. He’s a clever boy. Man, I mean. I - …” He brought his hand up to his forehead in despair. “ _God_.”

Belle laughed softly. “He’s eighteen, right?”

“Yeah.” It was more of a groan than a sigh. Leaning back for a moment, he pulled his fingers through his hair, moving it out of his face.

And it was a bit distracting, weirdly. Just a bit. But only for a second or two, not much longer, and Belle snapped back into the moment right after.

“Then,” she began, glancing over at the picture of the beaming little kid on the dresser, “you’re still allowed to call him a boy, I reckon.”

“I’ll tell him to take it up with you next time he corrects me, then.”

“You do that. I’ll set him straight.”

She delivered her lines as seriously as she could - frowning, nodding deeply, crossing one leg over the other all proper and businesslike. But his amused grin was a pinprick to her composure, and she burst into giggles before she’d meant to. At least she’d dragged him down with her! His laughter sounded wonderful to her ears compared to how terribly nervous he’d seemed earlier.

When they were done laughing, she didn’t quite know what to say next. But maybe she didn’t need to figure it out on her own. There were two of them, after all, and now her friend was finally thawing, he was perfectly willing to help them along.

“The weather’s not ideal, is it?”

A _touch_ unimaginative, but she didn’t mind one bit. “Not ideal!” she agreed, shaking her head.

“Did you ride your bike here? Through the rain?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t pouring on the way here.”

“But it must be freezing. Figuratively, I mean.”

He hadn’t phrased it as a question, but it sounded a bit like one, and he had that look on his face that Belle was fairly sure meant he was worried about something.

“It’s cold, yeah, but…”

“Not too cold?”

“Yeah! It’s doable.”

He hummed and nodded in understanding, but that look on his face was still there. “I have a question. Have had a question, really, for a while now.”

Thoroughly intrigued now, Belle shifted on her chair to face him better, and leaned in a bit. “Go on,” she coaxed.

“Aren’t you ever cold out there at night?”

Her brow went up. Was that all? “No.”

“Really?”

“Never.”

“Never?” he repeated, his voice deep and skeptical now.

“I mean, not really. I know it’s cold, but _I’m_ not. Does that make sense?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, thoughtfully. “I suppose it could.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No!” he exclaimed. “I do! It’s just… I find it interesting, that’s all.”

She cocked her head. “You do?”

He gestured vaguely, but elegantly, as he always did. “Well, after all, you moved from Venus, to - …” He paused to stare at the plant for a moment, as if its leaves might spell out the word he was looking for. When that didn’t happen, he turned his confused look to her. “Hm. Is there an ice planet?”

Belle giggled, surprised and delighted with whatever it was that he was trying to do here. To speak her language? “Depends on how miffed you were when they downgraded Pluto,” she said with a little shrug.

“Not particularly.”

“Then, if you’d like something concrete; Pluto is technically an ice dwarf planet. And there’s Europa - a moon and not a planet, but it’s mostly ice. That could work for you.”

His face cleared, and he seemed gone from the conversation all of the sudden. A few seconds ticked away and then he looked at her with some surprise in his bigger eyes. “Ice moons. I remember.”

Suddenly, so did she. Ice moons. Life. Contact. Running. She remembered him and her, out there underneath the big black starry sky, talking and laughing and sitting together. She, all fired up from trying to explain herself to him, of trying to connect, wanting to share the beauty of possibility. He, perfectly patient, completely engaged. Openhearted but not patronizing. Resistant but not dismissive.

That was the night he - … In his words, elbowed her in her sore spot. The worst night she’d had in a long time - Or at least that was what she’d thought for a while. But it wasn’t, was it?

_Huh._

She laughed a very soft, “Of course you do.”

She’d missed him more terribly than she’d realized. No-one else talked with her the way he did, made her want to talk to really make contact. To make meaning. And even though Gold was right there in front of her in that moment, she felt the full force of missing him like a blow to her stomach then.

But then the wind outside flared up, sending the rain crashing harder into the glass, blowing away that fading feeling and guiding her right back into the present.

“Anyway,” she began, sitting up straighter to feel more anchored to the moment. “I’m never freezing. Layers!”

He reached for the bottle of wine between them and tilted it a bit towards her, nodding towards her glass with his brow raised in question. She smiled in response, and he began to top off her glass, looking very competent as he did so.

And her smile was getting bigger. She wasn’t sure why at first, but then she thought it was probably the wordlessness of the exchange. See, he was just so nervous sometimes, and sometimes she was so worried about being understood that it wound her up and took her over, and while those things helped make their time together so exciting for her, this…

This was nice. Just a look, and a gesture, and that was enough. So good not to hear the cogs whirring in his head for once. Did he realize? Should she tell him what she was thinking? She probably could. She could probably tell him anything.

Suddenly, an ice cold realization pierced through her dreamy bubble and wiped away her smile. She very nearly gasped.

“Are you freezing your bum off all the time when you’re out there with me?” she asked, reaching out to touch his arm again. He didn’t tense this time, but she could see she’d surprised him.

“What? No, no.” He shook his head, smiling to reassure her. “Well, a bit. I’m cold. I won’t say I’m not. But not too cold.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. You do a great job with the fire.”

Those words lit a prideful little spark inside her chest that made her feel as if she were glowing for a moment. She tried to tame her smug grin, but she knew that wasn’t working, probably, judging from the way he was smiling back at her all pleased with himself for being responsible.

“Practice,” she said, shrugging with shoulders loosened by the wine.

The same wine that had colored Gold’s cheeks adorably pink. He stared down into his glass with his brow furrowed in a way that told her there was something he wanted to say. Belle did want to be patient, but what she wanted more was to keep talking and finding more reasons to smile. So:

“Shoot!” she sang, and this time, Belle was surprised that he _wasn’t._

“How were you so certain my kitchen faces south?” he asked, without missing a beat. “You said it as if you just knew.”

Belle’s face went blank, completely mirroring her mind in that moment. She hadn’t even realized. At least his strange face out in the hall earlier made sense now. He’d been ready to ask her that question for a while, huh?

“I don’t know. I guess I… just guessed? It does, right?”

“It does,” he said, smiling bemusedly at her. “Does your kitchen face south, too? Maybe you just assumed, subconsciously.”

“I don’t think so. It never gets any light.”

“Then… Have you somehow internalized a map of the town? 

She snorted. “Definitely not.”

“Hmm.”

Gold leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated thoughtful look and a little smirk that made Belle feel very playful all of the sudden.

So much so that she slid her chair back and stood up. _Bit_ funnily with the faint buzz she had going on, but stable as could be. She didn’t explain herself. She just smiled, took a step away from her chair and the table.

“So you’re basically implying I’ve got some sort of magic internal navigation system, yeah?” she asked.

Looking up at her with an ever-growing smirk, Gold gave a little shrug.

“Then I’ll spin around, and you stop me, and I’ll tell you which way I think I’m facing.”

He raised his brow, but didn’t object. “Can I make one suggestion in regard to your methodology?”

“Sure.”

“Close your eyes.”

“I was gonna!”

Gold chuckled at her sincere defensive outburst, and her face felt a little warmer when she understood they’d just gotten to that part of the evening where he was comfortable enough to tease her. It was her favorite part, but making it good required a bit of theater from both of them. So she rolled her eyes into oblivion, pretended to pout, and let her belly fill up with held back laughter.

“Come on. Get up. Don’t let me bump into the furniture.”

 _Come play!_ she added in thought, grinning at him in challenge.

He accepted. He stood up, and without his cane, made his way over to her. “Alright. Bit more to the right. Close your eyes.”

She was getting properly giggly now. “You’ll watch out for me?” she asked, shutting her eyes.

“Yes, I’ve got you.”

There was laughter in his voice, but warmth too. And Belle believed him completely, so she began to spin. Once, twice, with her shoes making lots of noise on the kitchen tiles, but then suddenly, an acute fear of crashing into something pinched her right in the pit of her stomach, and her eyes flew wide open on their own.

“Ah, fuck,” she sighed, disappointed with herself. “Didn’t mean to.”

“Is that so?”

She frowned. “I wasn’t going to cheat!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d never,” he teased.

“It was just a reflex!” 

She turned to stare him down with her hands firmly on her hips, but got distracted instantly when she noticed his tie, black and charcoal and subtly floral. She had a great idea.

With wide eyes, she gave the bit of fabric a little tug and declared it a, “Blindfold!”

But maybe it wasn’t really a great idea? Because Belle was aware that she was definitely a little too excited - a state of being that usually impacted her decision making skills for the worse - and Gold was looking at her with huge eyes and shocked laughter on his face, which was getting pinker by the minute. That was the biggest hint.

His tie was crooked now.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, no, you’re very… resourceful, certainly. But ah… Just try to keep your eyes closed.”

Nodding meekly, Belle bit down on her bottom lip, which didn’t do much to stop her from smirking anyway. She closed her eyes, ready to try again.

“And keep your head down. It helps with the dizziness.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do you know which way my kitchen faces? One mystery at a time.”

She snorted and giggled, but gave another obedient nod.

“Alright. Go ahead.”

This time, she kept her eyes closed, clenching them shut with all the determination she had in her. She spun, and he corrected course just once with a gentle touch on her upper arm. A few spins more, and then she stopped. Not that dizzy, but not perfectly stable either, and the warm pressure of his hand on her elbow told her he’d noticed.

“Alright?” he asked, and when she nodded, he let go.

“I’m facing…”

Belle wanted to laugh. She almost did, but it came out in another decidedly unladylike snort. Cause she had no idea. None at all, and she wasn’t even surprised. What a dumb, dumb idea.

But wasn’t it _fun_?

“North?”

Gold clacked his tongue in mock disapproval and groaned a theatrical, “Oh dear,” that made the laughter bubbling in her belly finally spill over.

She opened her eyes and found herself facing the kitchen window.

“Not even close!” she cried, throwing her head back with a cackle. “Isn’t this literally the wrongest I could have guessed?”

“I think it might be,” he laughed, leaning back against the table, watching her with twinkling eyes. “Remarkable in its own way, really.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better about not having any superpowers.”

“Ah, but there’s not an explanation for a mystery more banal than superpowers,” he said, shaking his head. “No real skill. Barely any intrigue. Blunt tool, narratively speaking.”

His hair had moved into his face again, but he didn’t seem bothered by it this time. He’d thawed, completely. Like she knew he would.

“Some might say coincidence is pretty banal.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I think it was more of an educated, instinctive guess.”

She crinkled her nose and folded her arms across her chest. “Educated?”

There was nothing teasing about his smile or his tone now. He seemed utterly, utterly serious. “You’ve spent a lot of time staring up at the night sky. What do you know about the moon? About polaris?”

Belle huffed a little laugh, a reflexive denial. But the mere act of asking had summoned what felt like a hundred little space factoids in her head all clamoring to be heard first, and she could see just from the look in his eyes that somehow, Gold could read her silence in exactly that way.

“But the sky isn’t fixed. It’s constantly changing.”

“In a predictable way. You might have subconsciously memorized some patterns that could help you navigate. Roughly, of course.”

“But it’s overcast.”

He didn’t have an answer at hand, but that didn’t really feel like a victory.

“I mean, I saw the moon earlier,” she admitted, “but that wouldn’t help much without knowing the time. And it depends on the season, too. It’s a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“Instinct,” he said, with such calm conviction that all the urge to fight it went out of her without a fuss.

“Wonder what I should do with this newfound talent I can’t even control,” she mumbled, half smiling and half pouting as she joined him at the table again to reunite with her glass of wine. He’d kept it safe right next to him.

He pushed himself away from the table to give her more room, but he didn’t sit down just yet. It was clear that he’d noticed something, a bit like a cat catching sudden movement, with a cool calm, and a look of intent.

“There’s…”

He moved his hand up to her face, and did something to her hair. Fixed it, probably, messy from her silly little spinning experiment as it was. Gently, purposefully.

But when it was done, the feline nerve went right out of him, and he jolted back, blinking in shock.

The thing was, it didn’t matter. Something had started, and something would follow. Like a dance, one step came after the other, and Belle closed the distance he’d made without a thought. While her mind was still stuck on his fingers in her hair, her hand knew to reach out and touch the fabric of his tie. She smoothed it, straightened it. Fixed it. She couldn’t seem to look in his eyes in that moment, but a sudden fascination with the faint stubble on his jaw stopped her from questioning that.

“Belle…”

And suddenly her lungs filled with freezing cold air, and her heart was too big for her chest, and it was her turn to jolt back and feel her skin prickle with electricity now.

She’d found it. She didn’t know she’d been looking. But it was here now, thick and suffocating and screaming and terrifying and beautiful between them, palpable almost, too much almost.

His eyes were nearly black.

Suddenly, the worst sound in the universe, second only to each and every alarm clock she’d ever owned: her cellphone rumbling and chiming on the table. It shattered the moment, made her crumple into a chair to reach for it and shut it off, _dear God, please_ , but it stopped before she could have the pleasure of pressing the red button. It was a text, not a call.

Reading it made her racing heart sink.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s the shop,” she sighed, slumping a little. “Dad needs me to accept an early delivery tomorrow. I have to wake up a lot earlier now. A lot… A _lot_ earlier.”

He moved the chair next to hers out from under the table and sat down with a soft sound of effort. “Ah. That’s… I’m sorry.”

She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to go! Why would she go? If she glared at the message hard enough, would the letters rearrange themselves? She glanced at the window desperately and found that to her utter sorrow, it had even stopped raining. No excuse there.

“I should go, I guess.”

“Really?”

She looked up at him, smiling at the sudden innocence in his voice.

“I mean, of course,” he corrected himself in his deeper voice. “You should get some sleep while you can.”

“Yeah.”

She. Didn’t. Want. To. But there she was, gathering her things, being kindly shepherded into the hallway, slinging on her scarf and not even bothering with her hat or her gloves stuffed deep in her coat pockets.

He was watching her from the doorway leading to the living room she hadn’t even gotten to see.

“Thank you again.”

“You really like that plant a lot, don’t you?” she joked, reaching for her coat.

That motion spurred him into action; he took her coat before she could throw it on, and held it open for her. He wasn’t looking her in the eyes, but somehow that was exactly what made the feeling flare up again. It didn’t terrify her this time. She recognized it now.

“For spending time with me. I’ll be fine; you don’t need to keep me company.”

“And what if I need it?”

The words came out burning, which made perfect sense considering the heat that was surging quietly through her. It wasn’t anger. It was what she’d felt earlier, what had knocked the breath out of her then and kept her burning still, and maybe it was also a touch of despair. Because she couldn’t control the imaginary version of her he’d conjured up, the one that didn’t care for him beyond a simple sense of pity. She couldn’t tell that Belle to knock it off, and there wasn’t anything fair about that.

“I like spending time with you.” She couldn’t spend enough of it with him. “Could you just accept that?”

Wide-eyed, mouth slack, Gold retreated to his place in the doorway, where he made a soft groaning noise and clenched his eyes shut. He looked pained as he drew his fingers through his hair and pulled it back tight in obvious frustration.

“Oh, Belle, I’m sorry,” he sighed, looking like a kicked puppy. “There’s a thin line between self-effacing and self-centered, isn’t there?”

She went all soft for him again. Him and his tired voice, all roughly textured and warm.

“You walk those well,” she said, zipping up her coat slowly. “Thin lines, I mean. For the most part.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Stick with me and you’ll be saying that a lot.”

He stood there, leaning against the doorway with his head cocked and his hair looking messy but silky in the dim light. His grin was crooked, his eyes were dark and begged to be stared at up close, and little laugh lines wrinkled the skin around them. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“I’ll stop being a twat about that. You can smack me if I slip up.”

She shook her head. Her throat felt dry, her mouth felt dry, but she had to say it. “That’s not what I wanna do.”

He felt it too. It wouldn’t have gotten to this if he didn’t. There was too much fuel to the flame for it to be just her. Something pulled at her, wanted to drag her deeper into the house again, into him, closer again.

But she couldn’t. Not now. She was wound up tight and filled to the brim, and if she let herself do something right now to ease the pressure, she would burst completely. She needed to be there to pick up the pieces if she did that. And she couldn’t. Not tonight.

This was horribly, ridiculously unfair. She’d only just cracked open the book, and now reality in the form of a dark cold winter morning was - …

A shy smile. Quiet voice. “I like spending time with you, too.”

And she felt lighter. Like she felt when she was spinning around in his kitchen, but with a certain sense of calm, too.

“Then we should keep doing this, yeah?”

Cause she had all the time in the world to kiss him, didn’t she?

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

_But soon would be good._

He followed her outside, where the clouds had started to drift from each other like cotton balls pulled apart by nervous hands, revealing large chunks of star-dotted sky. The air was crisp, cold, and the streets gleamed wet in what little light there was.

“Are you alright to ride your bike?”

“I’m not a lightweight!”

“Just making sure,” he replied, holding up his hands in surrender. “But don’t forget the hat. The hat’s important.”

She giggled quietly to herself and fished out her ocher hat from her coat pocket, just for him.

“There,” she said, shoving it onto her head. “Happy?”

 _There_ was her Cheshire Cat! Grinning beautifully, looking as if he would surely be swishing his tail if he had one, he said, “Happy.”

“Good night.”

“Sleep well.”

And she was off, pushing hard, curving playfully, grinning into the darkness for minutes on end. On a long stretch of road, she stood up on the pedals, steady and carefully. She was going to do it. She couldn’t do it earlier, but she could do it now; she closed her eyes.

One second. Two. Three.

Then her heart jumped. Light flooded through her eyelids, but when she opened her eyes, she saw nothing. No cars. No trucks. There was no traffic at this hour. Never. Not in this little town, with all its windows dark before midnight at the latest.

She looked left, right, behind her, left again, right again, her expression growing more severe by the second. In the end, she felt what it was before she saw it. She felt it by a pinch in the pit of her stomach, times a million.

She braked. She stopped breathing. The last thing she did before her muscles froze her in place was look up. There was a cold ball of light in the night sky, making the clouds near it glow silver, like the moon did sometimes.

But it wasn’t the moon. The moon didn’t glare. The moon didn’t pulsate, or float, or move behind a cloud in the blink of an eye to then disappear completely. Completely!

Her heart was racing as she jumped off her bike. It fell to the ground clattering, and the plastic cover of her broken taillight shattered into pieces once and for all. She whipped her head around wildly, turned and spun and scanned every inch of the sky with wide open eyes.

It was gone.

Why was she still shaking? Why was she shaking at all? She was breathing too fast. She knew she was doing it, and she knew it wasn’t right, but she couldn’t stop it. And nearly every thought in her maelstrom mind was about breathing too fast, about shaking, about crying - nearly every single one.

Except one. Bright. Like a life ring.

_Go back and tell him._


	22. The Tiger out of the Attic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night grows longer than expected when Belle appears on his doorstep once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around. <3 Your support means the world.

Gold stared at his new charge - _Euphorbia_ something - from the doorway into the kitchen, at its thick green leaves, at its thorns all along the stem. Nervously he wondered if it would ever have the chance to bloom.

Tonight marked the first time he had ever gotten an urge to apologize to an inanimate object. For wrongs yet to be committed, no less. Just another side effect of prolonged exposure to Belle French, he supposed. She really was something, wasn’t she?

Like a continuous heart attack, to be more specific. A missed step on a flight of stairs in the early hours. She was that suspicious bit of give of a harness on a roller coaster right as it jolted into motion and left the station. She was a tipsy impulse expedition into an abandoned building in the dead of night, a first ever nicotine rush, a menace to his composure.

But she was on the other side of his front door now, and Gold was both saddened and relieved by that fact; one minute more would have meant disaster. With her in that electric effervescent mood of hers, and he with his shoddy defenses lowered, just one more beaming nuclear explosion of a smile, and he surely would have - …

He loosened his tie around his neck and felt the ghost of her fingers on his chest. Clumsily now, he unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed up his shirt sleeves, eying the wineglasses on the table. Hers had a very faint glossy print on the rim. Not much color. Just a faint sheen.

At the kitchen sink, leaning against the counter to take the pressure off his ankle, Gold took the corner of a sponge to the mark and began to wipe it away. Whatever chemicals in his brain kept him from feeling even a little bit ready for sleep would dissipate, he hoped, if he could only find enough things to clean.

When the doorbell rang, he nearly dropped the glass into his sink. Hurrying down the hall, he saw what could only have been Belle’s hat through the thick glass. That warm yellow color didn’t need much light to stand out against the darkness.

She must have forgotten something, he told himself, swallowing down a knot of hope and excitement in his throat.

There was a warm, radiant image of her in the forefront of his mind still. When he opened the door and saw her pale as the moon, that vision of her withered and disappeared completely.

“Belle, are you alright?”

She was frowning, staring right through him, with her arms wrapped around herself tight. For a split second in which his heart sank, it hardly looked like her at all.

“Yeah, I’m…”

She nodded away the missing words. It wasn’t enough of an answer to soothe the nerves in his stomach, and catching sight of her bike thrown carelessly into the grass next to his mailbox sent them roiling.

“Are you hurt? What happened?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine, it’s - … It’s nothing serious. I-I just…” She dropped the rest of that sentence as well and took a few steps back, with her head tilted up, scanning the sky.

Gold didn’t want to take his eyes off her until he’d made sure that she wasn’t in immediate danger, but it didn’t look as if she was entirely _with_ him. So he risked a glance up at the sky anyway - very quickly - and saw nothing.

“Belle? What’s wrong?”

She snapped back down to earth with a series of rapid blinks, and launched into a waterfall of words. “Nothing, I’m fine, I’m alright. I’m sorry. I was heading home, and I was about halfway there, but then I saw something, and I - I don’t know what it was, and I didn’t know what to do. I don’t - I - … I needed to tell someone. Were you asleep? I’m so sorry if you were asleep.”

“Not at all.” Uneasy with the distance between them, he stepped out into the cold with her. “You didn’t take a fall? You’re not hurt?”

“No, I _saw_ something!”

She’d put all of the meaning in the world in that word. There was even a little more still in her immeasurably blue eyes - her quiet perplexed look now replaced with something much more alive. Something a lot more like her.

“In the sky?”

She nodded frantically. “Yeah. Yeah, and it’s gone, but…”

He checked again, just in case he’d missed something obvious, but he could see nothing but dark clouds and small patches of night sky up above.

The wind picked up then, blowing right through the fabric of his shirt as if it wasn’t there at all, drawing goosebumps on his cold skin.

“Will you come inside?”

“No, no, it could - … Oh, God, you’re freezing! I’m so sorry! It’s fine, I’ll go -”

“No, stay,” he blurted, reaching out to put a hand on her elbow. “Please. I’ll just get my coat.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, sounding so intensely grateful that his heart began to hurt.

“It’ll only be a second.”

He rushed inside, pulled his coat off the stand and came back out again with it draped over his shoulders. He left the door ajar, just enough to block the hall light spilling out into the night.

“What did you see?” he asked quietly as he joined her again.

“I, ah… I don’t know. It was just… light. White light, but it wasn’t the moon. It was much brighter, and it moved.” She paused to draw a path in the sky with her fingers, trembling, like her voice. “And then it went behind the clouds, and it was gone. I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I’ve seen… a lot of things. Things someone else might think - … But this wasn’t like that. I don’t know what it was.”

Gold was struggling to understand. She’d said it a few times now, that she didn’t know. Where was that overwhelming faith in the unknowable that had puzzled him so? That sparkling conviction that made her gesture sharply as she talked about far-off stars and planets with even just the slightest potential for life?

“Are you sure you’re alright, Belle?” he asked, pushing down the sleeves of his shirt underneath the makeshift cape that was his wool coat.

She looked at him with big watery eyes flitting all over his face in search of something. Her silence made his stomach clench, and he couldn’t help but feel like she’d just put something fragile in his hands. He wasn’t sure if he could keep it safe. He was afraid that the wrong words might shatter it.

Instead of an answer came a subdued plea. “Tell me what it could have been. Please.”

Gold was grateful for the clear request. In the muddiness of the moment, it was like a neon sign glaring out some way for him to be of some use to her. He knew, though, even as he began to rummage through his thoughts for memories of startling lights with innocuous explanations, that Belle had likely gone through a similar mental list, and had already discounted every single item on it.

“If it was very bright,” he began, regardless, “it might have been a helicopter search light. Or a weather balloon, or a meteor - bigger than you’re used to. Was it lightning in the distance, maybe?”

Belle gave a minute shake of her head and drew her lip between her teeth. “No. Wasn’t that.”

“Ah. Then…”

Nothing. He had nothing.

And she’d gotten so quiet again, eyes cast up, her mouth a thin line. So quiet and small she’d made herself, that his worry for her spread out like molten lead from the pit of his stomach and out into his chest, up into his throat, even down into his hands that were itching now to reach out and grab hers.

All he could think to do was stare with her. Up at the dark clouds and the small temporary clearings in between as they moved. No lights. Not even the moon.

“Could you wait with me for a little bit?”

“Of course,” he said, feeling a calm settle over him. He could do that. He could wait. With her.

“Thank you.”

“Be back in a second,” he told her, touching her shoulder for a brief moment, making it a promise that way.

In the hallway, he caught his furrowed brow in the mirror in passing. He forced it away. His cane was still hooked over the back of a chair in the dining room, but pride kept him from fetching it. Instead, he grabbed the plaid blanket from the back of his sofa, snatched up two larger throw pillows, and on his way back out, dropped the pillows on his doorstep.

The soft thuds drew Belle’s attention. It took her a second to catch on, while he closed the door and stuck the key in the lock. When she did understand, she didn’t hesitate to sit herself down.

Once she’d smoothed out the fabric of her skirt, Gold draped the blanket over her knees and then, very slowly, holding on to the doorframe, lowered himself to join her. The relief in his ankle as he stretched out his leg was instant.

“Is this even a little bit comfortable?”

“It’s perfect,” she said, and she tugged the blanket to cover his lap as well.

Gold briefly considered objecting, but it was a fleeting impulse easily ignored. The blanket was big enough, and sharing it didn’t mean anything. Well, it did, but only for himself, and only because he’d made it.

But shying away from her felt terrifically empty a reflex tonight; there hadn’t even been that pang of fear that always prompted those reactions. The fear of being found out. Looked at differently. Forced into the light. Frightening her away.

He was unaccustomed to this, to feeling anything but nervous with her sitting so terribly near. But he was glad for it. Belle needed him calm and collected. In the almost-silence of the wind whipping past the roof of his house, and the hollow white noise of distant traffic, Gold began to understand what had happened.

It had roots now.

The heartbeats skipped when she smiled at him in a certain way, the rush of pride straight to the head when he managed to make her laugh, the goosebumps when he even so much as thought about touching her — all of it. It had grown roots so deep he didn’t care much about his cover anymore, thin as it had surely grown over time already. What was the use of pulling weeds in a pine forest?

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. At her pale skin, her bright eyes, her fidgeting fingers. He knew there was probably nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Not in the mindless, thoughtless, torrential adolescent sense. No, it was concrete. It was right now. It was sitting out here on a cold winter’s night, it was waiting with her, it was worrying for her. It was staring up until his neck hurt, hoping to see a bloody spaceship, of all things, just so he might share the burden with her.

Why was it a burden for her?

Belle blinked and came back down to earth just in time to catch him staring. “You don’t think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t.”

“Or that I’m making it up.”

Gold knew she was saying, not asking, but the mere suggestion struck him like a sack of bricks. “Of course I don’t.”

“It’s just, you said you didn’t think it would ever happen.”

Not knowing what to say, Gold cast his stare down at his hands splayed against the plaid of the blanket. Red, black, white.

“You don’t need to think it was something extraterrestrial,” she said, sounding quieter, but a little closer too. “I don’t need you to believe in that stuff. I don’t expect you to.”

He hadn’t seen the things she’d seen. All he’d seen, all he saw, was her. Upset. Shaken. Shaking on his doorstep.

“I believe you. You saw something, and I believe you.”

“What if I hallucinated it?”

“You didn’t.”

“How do you know?” she asked, with a wobble in her tone. “Even I wouldn’t know.”

Silence fell over the world like a heavy blanket. It felt as if she hadn’t frozen just him in place with her sad smile, but the rest of the universe along with him.

“I believe you,” he repeated.

The spell broke when her eyes filled up with tears. She wiped them away just as quick, and did it with an embarrassed little laugh that didn’t do very much to make his heart hurt less.

“I’m alright!” she said, patting his knee a couple of times. “I promise. I must be freaking you out a bit right now.”

“No, no. No, I… I just thought you’d be…”

She gave a lopsided smile and took over his abandoned sentence for him. “Overjoyed?”

Gold returned her smile. “Something like that.”

She nodded slowly and sighed a slow, “Yeah, me too.” She lowered her knees, stretched out her legs a bit. “I don’t know what that’s about, to be honest.”

“Not what you thought it would be?”

With great reluctance, and only in the smallest voice, Belle admitted, “Part of it is I didn’t picture being scared.” She looked away quickly. “I think I was scared.”

She spoke that last part with an undeniable mixture of disbelief and disgust lacing her voice, and for reasons that eluded him, Gold was utterly charmed by it.

He fought down a smile and made his voice conspiratorially deep. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Belle’s snorting laughter as she bumped her shoulder into his was the most delightful, the most comforting sound in the world to him.

“Thanks. That’s very generous of you.”

He bumped her back, gently. “You’re very welcome.”

She sighed out a breath so deep she seemed even littler after. “I don’t know how I feel,” she said. “It’s not good, but I don’t know if it’s bad either. And I don’t wanna have to think about it right now. Or talk about it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“And I… I don’t wanna be alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’ll tell me when you get bored? Or cold?”

“Absolutely,” he lied.

She settled herself comfily in the corner of his doorway, her head tilted up so she could stare at the sky, resting against his front door. She seemed better. Not perfectly well, but calmer, certainly. Not the pale vision of shock he’d found on his porch not too long ago, at least. It was obvious, though, from the unevenness of her voice and the creases in her forehead even now, that Belle French still had a fight ahead of her.

But tonight, for as long as she wanted, Gold would sit with her and keep their world small and safe, confine it to what they could see from his doorstep. The cold was tolerable, but only just. If the wind had been any stronger that night, a single blanket wouldn’t have done the trick.

For as long as she wanted. In silence, or with the occasional words about the clouds and the stars behind them as her voice grew raspier, slower, deeper as time went on.

He didn’t mind when one long moment followed another, and another, over and over again until his hands were cold as ice and he heard the very faint, ghostly sound of the bells in the tower above the library striking a less than reasonable hour. For as long as she wanted.

With one caveat, Gold discovered when he heard the sudden sound of chattering teeth. Though she was quick to stop it, there was no ignoring that, no abiding it. He wasn’t going to have her turn into a popsicle on his watch.

“Belle?”

“Hm?”

There were goosebumps on the exposed sliver of pale skin on her neck, and there was a shiver in her lip.

“Will you come in and warm up for a while?”

Pulling her lip between her teeth again, Belle didn’t answer right away. She glued her eyes to the sky for a little while longer as she made up her mind. She looked dead tired. Close to sleep. Closer to freezing.

“If you’re not tired of me,” she said.

“Not even a little.”

Still some energy for a smile, though. “Then yeah. Thanks.”

Getting up was a bit of a struggle for both of them, but they helped each other through it wordlessly. Once she’d shrugged out of her coat, and he draped the blanket over her chilled shoulders with a soft, “Carry this for me, will you,” for an excuse, he led her into the living room.

“Your house is lovely,” she said, right before breaking into a tremendous yawn.

Gold laughed silently. He doubted she could have kept her eyes open wide enough to really make any sort of judgement on that, in the state she was in.

“Thank you. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make us some tea.”

In the kitchen, Gold filled up the copper kettle just enough for two generous mugs. First: sugars. Plenty of them. He dropped two cubes clattering into his favorite mug. After a moment of consideration, he decided to leave a few more on the tray, just in case he’d blotted out the memory of just how tragically sweet she was used to drinking it. For his own sanity’s sake.

He then began the uncertain task of searching his big wooden box of tea for at least one bag of anything palatable that wasn’t caffeinated. There were a few bags of rosehip left, and one more chamomile. Overcome with indecision, he stared at one, then at the other, then glared at the first one again, and was all set to keep up that useless cycle until the kettle boiled when he realized to his immense relief that it was not his choice to make.

So with two tea bags in his hands, Gold made his way back to the living room through the dining room. He was about to call out and ask, when mercifully, through the open door leading into his living room, he saw —

Belle. Looking very much as if she’d just fallen asleep on his sofa. As if she’d just toppled and curled up, snug with the blanket still wrapped around her.

He almost spoke up to ask if she had nodded off, but then reason stopped him in his tracks. Why would he do that? He couldn’t quite see her face; her hair had fallen in front of her eyes, and she was half burrowed into the blanket. But her feet were up on the sofa, so it appeared that she’d just…

Gold huffed a silent laugh, part in disbelief, the rest in utter adoration. She’d just fallen asleep on the spot. Maybe she’d only meant to rest her eyes for a moment.

Suddenly, he heard the telltale clang of the kettle beginning to bubble to life on the stove and he was smacked in the head with urgency. As quietly as he could, he rushed back into the kitchen and turned off the stove just as the water came to a boil, only just averting disaster in the form of a screeching whistle

He stood there for a moment, hands on the edge of the counter, head hanging low, hair swinging, heart slowing, and considered his options. Waking her certainly wasn’t one of them; he didn’t have the heart for it. That didn’t leave… well, anything else, did it?

With a sigh, he toed out of his shoes and made his way back to the living room. There was no possible way he could tiptoe with that ankle of his, but he knew which floorboards to avoid in the dining room.

It made him happy, a warm, soothing sort of happy to learn that Belle was a deep sleeper. She’d gotten more comfortable if anything; sunk a little deeper into the soft cushioning, the blanket pulled up a little higher around her.

God, his heart was so soft for her. He wanted to scoop her up and put her on the bigger sofa. Better yet - his bed, so she could get some proper rest. Impossible and unthinkable, of course, lest she wake up and find herself being lugged up a staircase by an old decrepit pawnbroker.

But she didn’t want to be alone, she’d said. And he’d told her she wouldn’t be.

He knew what he had to do. Moving slowly, and with plenty of breaks to make sure he wasn’t making too much noise, he began turning off the lights. He left one on in the hallway, just in case she woke before dawn.

Belle had left him the three-seater, which was very considerate of her, considering she barely needed the space on the two-seater she’d conked out on. There was a bit of creaking as he made himself fit on the sofa, but none of it seemed to reach her through the thick fog of sleep. He did have to curl up a touch, but as he pulled the soft old throw from the back of the sofa over his tired, slowing body and settled into the soft cushioning, Gold began to believe that perhaps, with a little bit of luck, sleep might come for him too.

…

In the darkness, out of nowhere, a weight on his upper arm.

_Hey._

He saw her, but he couldn’t be sure if his eyes were open. There was Belle, with her face close to his, so close. She was blurry, like he was looking at her through a layer of warm water. But she was beautiful. Her eyes were so blue. So, so blue.

He was asleep. He was dreaming.

Her red lips moved, and her velvet whisper voice sounded far away. He couldn’t make out the words on their own, but he understood that she had to leave. He mumbled something in reply, didn’t know what, didn’t really hear himself. Could he go with her? Could he move?

When he tried, the touch on his arm grew heavier. _It’s alright. Stay. Sleep._ He sank deeper under the warm weight, her hand, farther from her voice. He couldn’t tell her he wanted to go with her. He couldn’t speak. His eyes were heavy as lead, and he still wasn’t sure. Still wasn’t sure when they were open and when they were not.

“Thanks for staying with me.”

Then he felt it - hot breath on his cheek, warmth on his lips, the softest thing he’d ever felt on the corner of his mouth. A kiss. A dream, then, and alright, then, to let the slow wave of molasses drag him down, down, down and deeper still, to sleep.

A thousand miles away, his front door creaked twice.


	23. Where To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first truly sunny day in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Thank you for still reading this stuff. Your comments mean a lot to me. I'm sorry that I don't always respond to them. Please know you for sure make me smile every time.

Gold couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up with the sun in his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up on a sofa either, but then that would have been a memory he had no interest in recovering, whereas from the instant warm sunlight began to trickle into his barely open eyes, distorted through his eyelashes, all he wanted was to think back to summer afternoon naps in the back of the shop with Neal. Still barely any bigger than his favorite teddybear back then.

How long had he slept for the sun to be up already?

As he righted himself on the sofa, he became aware of an ache in the shoulder he’d slept on all night. The zipper on a throw pillow had left an imprint on his cheek. He’d slept right through the sharpest sensation, but he felt it dully now. His eyes, adjusting to the light he now noticed had been beaming off the mirror on the wall and into his face, did not feel heavy or dry.

The sofa Belle had slept on was was empty, the blanket she’d wrapped herself in lay folded crooked on the arm rest. The only sounds of life in the house were his, making the floorboards creak, sliding his hand over the bannister as he climbed the stairs, unbuttoning his wrinkled slept-in shirt with his other hand on the way up.

He didn’t have a clear memory of Belle’s departure, but he was sure she’d left. He wouldn’t have entered his bathroom half-naked if he’d had any doubts about that. He had probably been more than half asleep but _looking_ three quarters awake when she said goodbye and left for her early morning flower delivery. He only hoped his sleep-addled brain hadn’t felt the urge to try and say anything substantial back.

In the shower, he made the water just a touch hotter than he was used to. His shoulder was grateful for it, and the sleepy ache began to abate under a steady stream of hot water. He reached up and touched the imprint the zipper had left. It didn’t feel as deep anymore. His fingers moved, then, down to the corner of his mouth, and in a flash, he remembered the dream. Fragments of it. Bits and pieces of soft focus images and echoes of words, fleeting, swirling the drain of his memory as he closed his eyes and let the water blast his face. When those fragments were gone, all that was left was just a vague impression of warmth.

Out of the shower and back into the cold, he swept his hand over the fogged up mirror and decided he needed coffee more urgently than he needed a shave.

The kitchen was where the memories came alive, sharper than dreams. There were vivid pictures of her painted nails and a wine glass, deep dark blue on translucent red. The sound of her laughter bouncing off the kitchen tiles as she spun around. The innocuous tug on his tie like an anchor dropped from a ship cruising at high speeds, and her hair soft as silk as he fixed it. Blue eyes piercing every layer of him. Rose lips. Pink cheeks. The deceptive ensorcelling feeling, in that moment where she got so, so close, of _maybe_.

Gold would never forget how that same person, that very same whirlwind of a woman looked so small as she sat on his doorstep shivering, pale as could be, as quiet as she’d been giggly not even thirty minutes before.

He’d seen so much of her in one night. He could still stand to see a whole lot more.

He held his mug of coffee in both hands and stared out of the kitchen window into his lifeless winter garden. A lone bird, small, grey and remarkably unremarkable, hopped about aimlessly in the grass.

He really ought to get to the shop and have his coffee there. But there was no real urgency to the otherwise crystal clear realization that he was tremendously late, so he stood there a little while longer and idly wondered. Did she make it in time for her delivery? Did she go to bed right after for a few more hours of rest? Was she glad she’d come to him? Did he do alright?

He could call her and ask, in the sense that he could physically do that; he’d done it once before. But he could also physically take a blindfolded stroll down the highway if he was truly set on having a nerve-wracking morning. It would be a novel experience, at least.

The little bird beyond the window stopped hopping quite so aimlessly, then spread its wings and flew off into what Gold was shocked to notice was a perfectly cheerful blue sky. He didn’t know he’d been waiting for one until he saw it and felt the pointless frown on his face disappear.

He’d walk to the shop today.

…

From the moment the shop door closed behind him with a chime and a _click_ , Gold felt an itch to walk right back out again. That restless feeling didn’t go away after his second coffee, nor did his first cup of tea do much to soothe it. It was still there after the second indecisive browser came and left with nothing but the moment of quiet they’d stolen. He suspected it wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

In fact, it might get worse, Gold knew, if he tried to wait out that urge to lock up and leave for literally anywhere else. He could feel his bothered brain concocting something awful to serve as a distraction already. Something for his neurotic tendencies to latch on to, like the mental image of Neal maneuvering a vulnerable moped or whatever it was they’d assigned him through heavy traffic at night, for instance.

Maybe calling Belle wasn’t really very much like walking blindfolded through speeding traffic at all. Maybe he was just being a bit of a dramatic idiot, he thought to himself as he rinsed out his mug in the tiny sink in the back room. As he did so, his gaze drifted to the small window to his right. The glass needed a quick wipe, he noticed, but the sky was still wonderfully blue behind it. The sort of blue that belonged to July afternoons.

He was out the door before he knew it, pushed on by the sun shining down on the crown of his head and his shoulders, warming his back while the cold breeze in his face blew out the last cobwebs of sleep. The streets were empty, providing a comforting sense of desolation. No furtive looks, no curious glances. No need to walk quite as straight. He could lean on his cane as much as he needed to, and no less.

When he arrived at the library, he found it dark beyond the thick frosted glass in the large doors leading in. He gave the door a push, and then another when it didn’t budge. With a frown, he stepped back and looked for the yellowed paper sign, clumsily laminated some time in the late nineties from the looks of it, with the opening hours written on in thick black marker.

It should have been open. And he could have sworn it was a library day for Belle, from what he’d been able to gather from their conversations so far. Perhaps she’d switched, for the delivery. Perhaps he’d been mistaken. It hardly mattered, though; it was one or the other - flowers or books. The flower shop was nearby anyway, and the weather wasn’t rescinding its invitation to enjoy it just yet.

There was no mistaking it, even from a distance; the flower shop was very clearly open. Two large planters stood guard on each side of the door, and below the window stood a chalk sandwich board with some rudimentary but charmingly drawn flowers on. If that was Belle’s handiwork, she’d improved quite a bit, he thought to himself with a fond smile as he remembered how big her eyes had looked when she asked him to edit her little UFO drawing on that flyer she’d shown him.

Gone was that smile when he pushed open the door and became instantly aware of the sturdy man with greying hair behind the counter. Somehow Gold knew exactly who it was, and he wasn’t thrilled to see he looked about ten years younger than he’d have liked him to.

Belle’s father, Gold assumed, looked up from the register with that typical practiced salesman face he himself had never been too bothered about.

He didn’t stay long enough to see it change into anything else; he closed the door without a word and walked away. Off the porch. Down the street. Back to the shop.

Where on earth was she?

He pushed his hand into his coat pocket as he walked and felt for his phone, but didn’t take it out. He could text her, if he didn’t want to call her. But he’d want to text again if there was no timely reply to his first text, and if she didn’t reply to the second one, he would want to call. That, Gold decided, would qualify as stalking.

Back in the shop, he retreated to the back room and stood himself in front of the little window looking out on the courtyard again. There was nothing to stare at. The little bird hadn’t returned. After taking a moment to gather his courage, he took his phone in hand and called her.

It rang. And rang. And the longer the call went unanswered, the more this silly anxiety was forced to make way for something stronger: Worry. Compounded when he was delivered to her voicemail with no script, no lines, not even a clue as to what it was he needed to say to her, and realized that all he wanted and desperately needed was to know that she was alright.

_Hey, you’ve reached Belle! I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message. If you meant to call me, I mean. You probably did. Anyway, yeah, leave a message! Talk soon!_

“Hey, Belle, it’s me. I, ah, I just wanted to ask how you were doing today. I passed by the library, but it was closed. Hence the call. You don’t have to call me back if you’re busy. Just, ah… Have a nice day. Bye.”

He made sure that he had well and truly hung up before he let out a deep groan. The puerile fear of calling her had been vanquished, but worry had settled firmly in its place.

He kept his phone within his line of sight at all times, couldn’t even bear to keep it in his pocket.

When after a torturous hour or two of going through the motions of keeping busy the bell above the shop door chimed, Gold’s first instinct was to look at his phone in case the sound of some dullard of a customer barging in had masked the sound of a notification. But -

“Hey!”

_Oh._

Belle. Smiling, safe and sound, dressed in royal blue and bringing in the sunlight with her. A blast of cold air had followed her in, but he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind anything anymore.

“Got your message.” She wiggled her fingers at him in a cute little wave.

“Belle, hey,” he replied eventually, after a bit of processing power in his brain had freed up.

“I put my phone on silent earlier,” she said, walking over to the counter, “and I totally forgot to switch it back. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

She walked up to his counter and leaned against it, smiling sweetly up at him. “I was gonna call back, but it’s really nice out for a walk. I figured we could hang out for a bit.”

“Hang out?”

“Yeah. If that’s alright. Are you busy?”

“No, not at all. I mean, I’d love to.”

“Great.” She burst into a grin, but it looked a little nervous. “I ah… I wanna apologize for the impromptu sleepover first, though.”

“That’s alright,” he said, remembering how full his heart had felt when he saw her wrapped up warm and snug on his sofa. “I don’t think you had any say in the matter. You must have been exhausted.”

“I was pretty shattered, yeah. But I still imposed, you know? So I am sorry.”

She shrugged out of her coat and looked around for a place to put it. Before Gold could step in and take it from her, she discovered the newest addition to his stock, failed to notice the attached price tag and threw her coat onto a 110-year-old coat stand.

“I’m just glad you got some rest.”

“And did you?” she asked, reclaiming her spot at the counter, resting her elbows on the glass top and leaning close.

“Mhm, when you weren’t talking in your sleep,” he joked.

But she paled. Her eyes got big and her lips parted and Gold stood there completely stunned. The first ever time one of his throwaway jokes had landed completely sideways with her, and he wasn’t sure why or how.

“I’m only kidding. You didn’t talk in your sleep.”

“Ohh!” Her smile reappeared, and Gold could breathe again. “Yeah, no, cause I do actually… do that sometimes. Nightmares, y’know.”

“Well, not last night,” he assured her. “Not a peep.”

“Good. Good.”

“Did you make it in time for the delivery?”

“Mhm! And then I went right back to sleep and called in sick to work for good measure.”

Gold frowned. “Are you alright?”

She grinned at him. “I’m not actually sick. I just thought it’d be good to have some time to think.”

“Was it?”

“No!” she laughed ruefully, shaking her head. “I think I forgot how to think! Going around in circles is fine, as long as the circles are big enough, you know? But they’re not.”

He gave a nod and watched with interest as Belle pushed herself away from the counter to wander around a little bit.

“And _then_ I thought alright, I’ll just give up on thinking and get some reading done instead, but nope. Can’t focus at all. It’s like my brain’s stuck or something. I wish I’d just gone to work. Maybe it would have been good to keep busy.”

“I understand,” he said, smiling knowingly as he came out from behind the counter and walked towards the doorway that led into the back room. “All I’ve been able to think about today is how dusty the shop’s gotten.”

Belle quickly looked away from the stained-glass desk lamp she’d been admiring to shoot him a confused look. “Really? It’s fine!”

Smirking, Gold reached back into the room, and from an old chrome and bakelite umbrella stand around the corner, pulled out a horrid rainbow colored feather duster.

Her confusion grew deeper for just a second, but then she understood. “For me?” she gasped in pantomime delight, making her way over with quick, bouncy steps to try and snatch the duster out of his hands.

“Ah ah!” He held it back and away a little, telling her, “Just until I’ve fixed us some tea. I don’t need any labor violations on my hands.”

She smirked, rolled her eyes, but relented. “Alright. Deal. Now hand it over before I go crazy.”

A great, soft fuzzy sense of calm filled the back room for the next few minutes. Gold rinsed the kettle, arranged cups and boxes of tea and sugars and spoons and milk on a silver platter, and he listened to the sounds of Belle’s presence in the front of the shop. Her heels on the hardwood floor as she moved around with her duster, and most endearingly: her quiet humming, ever so slightly off key.

Even the noise when she unmistakably knocked something from a shelf, startling in any other context, seemed only to add to the warmth of the moment. The heavy _thud_ of it landing mercifully onto a rug. The high-pitched, “Oh no!” followed by a very pleased, “It’s fine! Didn’t dent it!” two seconds later.

And when he called her into the room for her tea, and she walked in with the skirt of her short blue dress swinging, and she sat opposite him and began to drop sugar after sugar into her cup, Gold realized it hadn’t just been the sun he’d been missing.

“Did you have fun?” he asked innocently, stirring milk into his own tea.

“Time of my life.”

“Good to hear.”

They passed a peaceful minute with quiet smiles, stirring and taking tentative tiny sips of slowly cooling tea.

“I haven’t told anyone else yet,” she said, leaning back in her chair, her hands folded around her cup. Gold knew what she meant, and he’d been waiting for her to bring it up, but still she made sure to specify, “About what I saw last night.”

“Not even your friends? I forgot their names. The young men, not the photographers, but -”

“Leo and Geoff. Yeah. No, I haven’t told them. They’ve got a lot on their minds right now. They’re moving soon.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” she sighed, showing a sad smile. “I guess the desert really has some kind of pull on us. Everyone always ends up in Arizona.”

“Arizona,” he repeated quietly. And he thought about it for a moment, and decided that it did seem to make some sort of very natural sense. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll miss them. But they’ll be happy there. Plus, I always knew it was going to happen some day. No-one ever stays.”

“But you’ll get new visitors, won’t you?”

“In the summer, probably. Hopefully.”

Gold nodded and thought back to the first time he saw her. In the darkness, in the freezing cold, bouncing up to meet him with a joyful smile until she realized he wasn’t there to make new friends.

Funny how that worked out.

“You could leave some of those flyers you made in the shop,” he offered.

She smiled warmly, little glints of light in her blue eyes. “You’re sweet.”

Startled, Gold sat up straighter in the hopes that some rigidity would offset the inevitable blush he felt creeping up his neck. He didn’t know what to say to that. Could he make a joke about the amount of sugar in her tea? Something about accidentally spiking her cup instead of his? Hadn’t he gotten past this sort of flustered fumbling?

“Your message too,” she began, sparing him the rest of the frantic search for words. “I’m sorry if I worried you last night. Not picking up the phone couldn’t have helped either, right?”

Staring down into his tea, Gold quietly admitted, “You seemed rattled.”

“I’m alright, really. I’m less confused now, and I do think… I do think it was extraterrestrial. And that’s…”

She trailed off with a sigh and cast her eyes up at the ceiling for a moment, going off on a search for words of her own.

“That’s awesome. I’m glad I saw it. I really am.”

Gold watched her closely, trying to read the frown that creased her forehead, the tightness of her lips.

“But?” he prodded.

“But what now?”

She stared at him with big questioning eyes, as if he had the answer to that huge, vague blob of a question, the meaning of which he didn’t even grasp a little.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled, lifting and dropping her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I’ve been doing it for so long. Almost every night if the skies were clear, even though they thought I was crazy. Waiting out there, night after night. And now that it finally happened…”

_She’s the puppy that caught the mail truck,_ Gold thought, wishing he could reach out, touch her face and move her chin gently up.

“Now that it finally happened, it feels like a huge part of my life is just… gone. Or that it _should_ be gone, like I should move on or something. But move on to what? And should I just stop going out to the field now that I got what I’ve been waiting for all this time?”

She gave him that look again, open and hopeful for an answer he wasn’t sure he could give. But he wanted nothing more than to mean what she, for whatever reasons, thought he could mean for her. So he took his time. To think about her, and what he’d learned, and what she’d shown him of herself.

He thought of her dreamy smile aimed up at a sky devoid of spaceships. Filled with stars. Filled with potential. How she beamed that smile up at the International Space Station, how strong that accent grew when all that talk about planets and suns got her all excited.

That path, pointing from memory to memory, eventually led to the little silver and glass hanger filled with moon dust still hidden away in the glove compartment of his car, and Gold knew. Just _knew_ that even if he never worked up the courage to give it to her, even if his car got stolen and that little bit of the moon with it, even if from this moment onward she never mentioned anything even remotely extraterrestrial ever again, even if Belle French finally realized she was too big, too wonderful for this pointless little town and spread her wings before he could hand it to her, even if she up and left for the desert right now, even if in thirty years that hanger was hidden in a box of trinkets up in an attic somewhere and Gold found himself half asleep in a rocking chair near the window in a home at sunset, wondering whatever happened to that impossibly beautiful Australian woman with the short skirts who spun around in his kitchen, the gorgeous, clever ray of sunlight he so painfully wished he’d kissed…

Even then. It would still be hers. She was still stars, moon dust and a warm fire on a cold night to him. It was wonderful to know her. It was unfair and wholly tragic that she had been missing out on that - and she had. She wouldn’t have been talking like this otherwise.

“Never mind, I’m sorry,” she sighed, before he could gather all of those thoughts together and fashion them into an answer. “I promise I’m alright. I think I just have to take a little break from going out to the field. Figure out where I am. Where I’m going. I feel a little lost.”

“Lost?” He wanted to nudge her back into herself. With his teaspoon, he reached out and lightly tapped the rim of her abandoned teacup. “But you don’t know where you’re going, you said.”

With a bemused beginning of a smile, Belle answered, “Right.”

“Then you’re not lost, are you? Any way’s fine.”

Slowly, her brow lifted, that bud of a smile bloomed into a grin, and then she laughed.

“Did you just - …”

She didn’t finish her question, succumbing to her laughter again. And not that he wasn’t happy to have made her laugh, but Gold did begin to wonder if he really understood what it was she was laughing at.

“Did I just what?”

“Have you ever read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland?”

Gold, just absolutely nonplussed now, gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I might have. Why?”

“You sort of went a little Cheshire Cat, there.”

“Did I?”

Her face was red from laughter now. “A little bit, sort of, yeah.”

“And here I thought I was being clever.”

“Oh, you always are,” she said, leaning over and putting her hand on his.

The sudden warm touch made his fingers go weak. He dropped his teaspoon to the table with a hollow sound. It didn’t startle her, or surprise her; she just smiled at him with her eyes still full of laughter, and a smile that read like a wonderful secret.

And then he remembered the desert. He remembered that she deserved more than what this town could ever give her. It wasn’t the happiest thought he could have, but it was the thought he needed in that moment, to want to be here - _really_ be there - with her, in whatever way he could. Now. While she still wanted to be here with him.

She took her hand back. He wished he’d turned his hand over and held hers instead.

“The uh, the trouble is,” he began, watching her rescue his spoon from the table and putting it safely back in his cup. “I’ve gotten used to being out in the cold at night now. That would be your fault, I believe.”

Despite the slight stammer at the start, he managed to slink back into the dry playful voice he reserved for moments like these.

“It’s true, I’m horrible like that, aren’t I?”

“Truly outrageous,” he agreed, delighting in her failure to really keep her smile down, like he could. “But as I was saying, I’ve gotten so used to it now. And since that’s entirely your doing —”

Why wouldn’t he ask her? Why would he be so terrified of calling her? Why could he not just spend their time together without letting her know, through half-jokes and unnecessary apologies, that he thought so much of her that what little respect he had for himself absolutely paled and shriveled into nothingness in comparison?

He knew a place she would like. It wasn’t the desert.

“— I was wondering if you’d be up for a walk tonight. Weather permitting.”

Her face lit up, and she sat up straight with interest. “For sure! Anywhere in particular?”

“Yes,” he said, and then he put on his serious face again, until she laughed at it, and he didn’t even care to keep it up anymore.

“Alright, that’s fine! Be mysterious. I don’t care. I’m just really happy you asked.”

The glint in her smiling eyes as she drank the last bit of tea in her cup made the very center of his chest feel intolerably warm.

Then, out of nowhere, (But was it?), “I’m not sure you were really awake when I left last night.”

Something in her voice, a little deeper now, resonated with the warmth in his chest and made it radiate up to his face again.

“I’m not sure either. You said goodbye, didn’t you? Did I miss anything important?”

She put down her empty cup without looking at it, choosing instead to smile him half to death again.

“Don’t worry. I think I could catch you up tonight.”


	24. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold takes Belle somewhere he knows she'd like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience. <3 Your comments mean the world to me. I'm so glad you've stuck around.

Dusk wasn’t what he’d aimed for. The sky wouldn’t be at its darkest for a while yet, but standing there in front of the flower shop, staring up at the faintest beginnings of starlight, Gold was sure it would be by the time they arrived. He’d misjudged, but it was difficult to be even a little upset about that. It seemed the days were getting longer faster than he’d dared to hope.

Up above the flower shop, a light went out.

Gold crossed the street. Pressed the doorbell. Listened for the distant buzzing sound somewhere deep inside the house. Then the distinct sound of boots on wood (stairs, then floorboards) came towards him, closer and closer until he could see a shadowy Belle-shaped figure through the glass in the shop door.

She came out into the dim yellowish light of failing lampposts and made something in his stomach flutter happily.

“Hiya! Just a second, the lock’s a bit of a nightmare.” She gave him a quick grin over her shoulder and began to wrangle the finicky lock into submission.

“Take your time.”

He hardly minded the extra moment to steady himself. Sometimes meeting up with her was like stepping out into a sweltering desert sun after three months’ residency in a walk-in freezer. A shock to his sheltered system.

She made the very picture of winter that evening; layers of wool and thick fabrics kept her safe from the chill in the air. Her peacoat was buttoned up properly, she wore wool socks over tights to fill out her brown boots, and then there was the hat, of course.

But she smelled like summer. When she joined him and put a hand on his arm briefly in greeting, that was all he could think about. All he could picture. Small white flowers that bloomed all night long, and spices he’d never even heard of on a warm wind. Made him want to be much closer to her than he knew was safe.

“Where to?” she asked, slipping her keys into her coat pocket.

He took a few steps back out onto the sidewalk in front of the shop, and gestured with a wide sweep of his cane. “This way.”

“Remind me where we’re going again?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, dutifully looking both ways before they crossed the street, “didn’t think you’d fall for that one. You can hardly blame me for trying, though.”

“And to think I thought you were patient.”

“Well, that’s on you! You just decided that about me, like you decided I only wanna spend time with you for your sake.” A playful little reminder, delivered with a gentleness in her voice.

Surprised, he felt himself slow down a little bit, as if his brain were having trouble devoting itself to both walking and thinking at the same time. The stumble - out of the freezer and under the magnifying glass and the scorching sun - wasn’t very noticeable, and it didn’t last very long, but it was enough for Belle to pull ahead and walk backwards in front of him for a few steps.

All grin, she mused aloud, “Something tells me I’m not disappointing you, though.”

All Gold could do in response was nod. She was right. And she didn’t need him to tell her, which was a good thing, because he couldn’t.

Belle returned to his side with a soft chuckle, her hands in her pockets and her eyes on the pavement and all its cracks. He could hear her fidgeting with her keys for a moment, a cheery jingling sound to ward off absolute silence.

In his belly, the fluttering had worsened into a constant hum of growing excitement. Something nervous. Something thrilled. Maybe there was a smidgen of terror in there, too — not enough to want to run away, but certainly enough to make the silence feel like a threat. Like if he didn’t fill it with inanities (or jingling keys) something sincere might come bursting out of his heart and out into the open where he could never take it back.

“It’s cold,” he said, stupidly, knowing fully well it was the mildest night they’d had in a long time. “You look -” _beautiful_ “- warm, though. That’s good. Good thing.”

She gave him an amused look. “Well, you could do with a few more layers. A hat at least.”

She was wearing one he’d seen before: that deep autumnal yellow color, nearly golden brown. With a soft huff of a laugh, Gold wondered if she’d cycled through all of her hats at this point.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, frowning with concern.

“Nothing at all.”

“You were laughing!”

“Not at you,” he promised. “I was just thinking how much I like your hats, that’s all.”

She wrestled down a smile and lifted her chin proudly. “Good. Cause I like them too.”

She looked entirely as if she expected him to poke fun. And while that hadn’t been his intent, Gold found it very difficult to disappoint her now.

“I think it’s a very clever way to hide the antenna on the top of your head.”

“You!” she gasped in mock dismay, yanking off her hat and smacking him in the arm with it.

He was too busy feigning injury to dodge when she jumped in front of him and, lightning quick, slid her hat down over his head in one smooth determined swing of her arms.

 _All_ the way down. His world went black, his jaw dropped, and all he could do was laugh, “Belle!”

“Don’t you Belle me now! You can just stand there and warm up for a bit, sir. You’re obviously much too cool for any of this.”

“I’m sorry, Ms French,” he pleaded, holding out his hands. “I’m at your mercy.”

He heard her move closer, heard her snort a little laugh under her breath and, for the first time that evening, heard birdsong traveling from somewhere far off on the cold breeze. The deeply sweet smell of night flowers seemed to envelop him completely now.

She gave his arms a gentle push down ’til they hung limp by his sides. Then, with a tug on the pompom on top of his head, she gave him his sight back.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light of the lamp post they’d stopped under. And there she was.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey you.”

She was so much closer than he’d thought she’d be. With a twinkle in her eye and the very tip of her tongue poking out from between her lips in concentration, Belle began to adjust the wool brim on his forehead, and then tugged gently at his hair to make it frame his face properly. Her fingers, when they brushed his cheeks in passing, felt cool on his skin. But his entire face felt like it was glowing hot.

“You’ll get cold,” he protested weakly, knowing fully well he’d been irreversibly sentenced to the hat for the foreseeable future.

“I won’t,” she said, smiling fondly, walking on.

After a second of daft staring with a daft smile on his face and an even dafter hat on his head, Gold caught up with her. He could feel the pompom wobble with each step. It made him want to laugh.

“I told them, by the way. Geoff and Leo. Well, I told Leo. Leo told Geoff.”

“I bet you made their day.”

“Sort of,” she replied, crinkling her nose. “They were, ah… a bit upset I didn’t come to them right away. I might have to bake them a cake to make it up to them.”

Gold became aware of a new warm sort of feeling, then. He couldn’t name it, exactly, but it made him walk a little taller, feel a little more solid. It felt, perhaps, like the opposite of jealousy.

“I’d rather the honor than the cake.”

She raised an eyebrow and tried to look strict. “Are you being sweet or are you knocking my baking skills?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” he said, putting his hand over his heart. “I’ve learned my lesson. I’d never, not anymore. I’m sure you’re very good.”

She leaned a little close, put her hand up to her mouth and mock-whispered, “I’m not.”

It was the giggle she’d failed to stifle so close to his ear that nearly made his knees buckle. Hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt, Gold grinned up at the sky and tightened his grip on his cane. The stars had gotten brighter, the sea surrounding them much darker. Still not a cloud in sight.

“I’m glad I came to you, you know.” Her soft voice drew his attention back down to earth. “You handled all that really well.”

“All that?” he repeated with a chuckle, his brow raised.

“Yeah, it was a lot!” she insisted, putting her hand on his arm for a moment to signal complete sincerity. “All of it! I gave you a plant you didn’t want -”

“Now wait -”

“- and I drank your wine, and then there was the whole superpower thing, and then I left but I came back in what I can imagine was _quite_ a state to tell you I saw a spaceship. And then I fell asleep on your couch. All in one night. That’s a lot, I reckon.”

Gold opened his mouth and made to contradict her, but then he faltered, realizing it would be silly to act like it wasn’t the most eventful evening he’d had in some time.

She read his mind, or his silence at least, with ease. “See?” she chirped as she gently bumped her shoulder into his arm. “It was a lot.”

“Be that as it may, I’m delighted with my plant and I won’t have you say otherwise. Wee bit worried about murdering it, but that’s precisely because I like it so much.”

She let out a little breath - a sigh, a laugh; he wasn’t sure. Her shoulder nudge had moved her and her cloud of flowers and spices much closer.

“And I’m glad you came to me, Belle,” he confessed, making his voice softer as if he wasn’t quite sure he really wanted her to hear.

Suddenly she was even closer. It didn’t really register at first, what had happened. It was just warmth and touch and yet another skipped heartbeat until he looked down and looked at their linked arms. Then he understood that they were walking arm in arm now.

If he hadn’t known better, he might have said that little smile of hers looked shy. Her incomprehensibly blue eyes flitted over his face as if the full contents of his heart were written all over it in ridiculously fine print. His heart was beating up a storm in his chest, and he wondered, just for a second, if he wasn’t still asleep on his sofa, drooling on the cushion.

Didn’t matter. He looped his arm a little tighter around hers. And they walked on.

They made their way down darkened streets parallel to the old harbor, in silence now. Her proximity had taken away his words, but it didn’t feel like there was a need for them anymore. Not an urgent one, at least. It was entirely likely that she knew exactly where they were, but had she figured out where it was they were going? If she had, she was hiding it very well.

When they turned onto the street with the slight incline that signaled the beginning of the small climb they were to make before reaching their destination, he told her, “Just a little further ahead.”

In saying that, he was only humoring that very distant voice in the back of his head that insisted he consider the possibility that he was boring her half to death.

But with a squeeze of her arm around his, she silenced the voice. Made the thrum in his stomach spread out into his chest as they climbed the upward sloping streets in silence.

The birds had gone quiet. The sky was no longer that inky blue. All the color had gone, and the stars had gotten sharper.

Out here, the houses were spread out a bit more, respected the other’s space a bit more, and the windows were all dark. There, quite a while ago, lived the fishermen and their families when that was still a wise and profitable thing to be in these parts. But things had changed. Now, in warmer months, young families summered here, and in winter and for most of spring, the houses stood empty.

The landscape rose sharply behind the dormant houses. In between two of them, a small path led to a set of stone steps lined with railings with white paint chipping off, revealing rust. With a nod, Gold guided them off the sidewalk and onto the dirt path, leaving the street lights behind and walking into the darkness.

Regretfully, when they reached the narrow steps, they had to disentangle. Gold gestured for her to go first, smiling at the wonderful look of anticipation on her face.

“Nearly there,” he told her.

Gold followed her up, biting his tongue through the discomfort, clinging tight to the railing. Could she hear the waves crashing yet? The wind thrashing the rocky cliffs?

At the top of the steps, Belle froze. She whipped around and stared down at him with her lips parted and her eyes the size of saucers. Then she was _off_ , leaving Gold to catch up, laughing under his breath.

There it was. The old lighthouse, abandoned but ever faithful. It hadn’t been lit in years, with no ships left to guide in the bay down below. Squat and weathered, a lonely structure with no adjoining building to house the keeper when there still was one, it wasn’t particularly impressive when viewed from the other side of the bay.

But the tower’s white paint, dirtied by the elements though it was, still made it stand out in the darkness. And from where Gold was standing there at the top of the steps, with the sea almost as dark as the sky above, it looked as if the lighthouse stood guard at the very edge of the earth. It looked magnificent.

“I didn’t know you could come up here!” Belle called out. She was well on her way to the railing up ahead, drawn right to the edge of the cliff like he thought she’d be.

And of course she was. Who wouldn’t be? Gold knew of no other place where the sky seemed even half as vast as it did here atop the headland. And he’d never seen it at night.

Gold made his way up to the railing, where Belle had gotten very quiet, and her eyes had gotten very big. She was trying her best to take in the unfathomable depths of black, with their bright diamond dots strewn all over. The sky met the only marginally less mind boggling depths of the sea at the horizon. There were no bright city lights to filter out, to squint against.

“It doesn’t even look real,” she whispered, her hands tightening around the cold railing.

“I know.”

A smile grew slowly on her face, but she seemed very far away from him in that moment — absolutely gone, actually. She’d dreamed herself lightyears ahead into that formidable darkness.

He didn’t mind her being off on her own for a little while. Why would he have taken her there if he did? Gold hooked his cane on the railing, leaned his weight against it instead, and tried, just for a minute, to get himself as lost as her. But it was no use. He was no great imaginary adventurer, like her.

Why hadn’t she gone off to explore the world before she’d set her sights on the universe? He couldn’t understand why someone so vibrant, whose interests and passions lay beyond even the stratosphere, had spent so much of her life in this tired little town.

She could have flown off somewhere while he was in Boston. He could have returned to an empty, lightless field. What if he’d never gone after her that night she ran off into the thicket and broke her old lantern? What if every lonely paranoiac’s tall tales turned out to be gospel truth, and the bright lights had beamed her up last night? What if a rogue wave came crashing into them and swept her away from him forever?

Perhaps she had her reasons to stay. But if she did, he couldn’t guess at them, and the uncertainty was making him think differently tonight. She was not a given. The way she’d looked at him tonight was not a given.

The wind had begun blowing her hair in her face, trying to tease her out of her reverie. And while he certainly missed her chatter, he couldn’t have _that_. Not at all.

He took off the woolly hat and exposed his own hair to the wind’s ire. Then, gently as he could, he returned the hat to its rightful place. Back where it belonged, down over Belle’s soft hair, keeping her hair in place, warming her ears the way it had his throughout their walk.

She blinked out of her dreamy stare and turned toward him. For a second, Gold felt like a terrible intruder. But the look in her eyes was warm enough, real enough to convince him otherwise.

And under the weight of her steady stare, everything he’d been feeling, everything he thought had been making him feeble and nervous, jittery and useless — …

“Belle?”

She hummed an encouraging sound through smiling lips.

“When… When you left for the flower shop last night…”

Oh God, what was this now? His throat closed itself, his heart beat a dire warning in his chest. Was this as far as he could drag himself? This pathetic croak and halt, this pitiful shuffle forward, was this the best he could do?

“I kissed you,” she said.

His heart stood still. His knees felt weak. Breathing suddenly felt ever so much like drowning. He was afraid that if he spoke, or tried to, his lungs would flood.

But he had to.

“I thought maybe I’d dreamt it.”

“You didn’t.”

_Her hand on his shoulder. Her face so close to his. Her lips on the corner of his mouth._

“If you… You were upset. I’d understand if -”

“No, don’t.” The softest interruption. “I wanted to. I still do.”

The roiling sea below kept crashing, thrashing into the rocks.

“I think I’m awake now.”

Her eyes darkened.

Then she moved with startling suddenness, and his back hit the railing, and her hands were cool on his cheeks, and her cold nose bumped into his, and she kissed him hard.


	25. Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing and texting and teasing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, because I absolutely will take forever otherwise, and that would suck.
> 
> Thank you guys for all the love. I can't believe how sweet and kind you all have been. Thank you for reading this silly thing. You're all wonderful.

His body wanted to follow hers when she finally pulled back, but it was impossible. At some point during the kiss, he’d grabbed hold of the railing behind without realizing, and his hands were numb now. Caught between a force of nature and the ocean.

She was still there when he opened his eyes. Her hands, her fingers, slowly began to slip from his face. It was his own fear he saw reflected in the slow creasing of her brow. Though he recognized it, he didn’t understand it. But there was no time to walk around to the shallow end of the water now.

So he let go. Before she gave up, before she was gone, he reached out and touched her flushed cheeks with his freezing fingers. Before the stars went from her eyes and stopped blinding her, he leaned down and kissed her. As lightly as he could, lest she burst and disappear like any other impossible vision would.

Instead she became fuller, warmer, realer pushing up against him again, grabbing his shoulders and raising herself on her toes. She mewled a soft sound into the kiss that broke something inside of him. He needed her so much closer.

There was thick wool in the way when he cupped the back of her head, but his hand fit perfectly in the small of her back. And when she threw her arms around his neck, looping him in safe, breaking the kiss only to kiss him just a little bit harder, there was nothing even remotely like fear left to rattle him like it had before.

Her lips brushed against his as she whispered, asked him if he was alright. He kissed them once more and only opened his eyes when he felt her squeeze his shoulders to reach him through the haze.

She was still there, the perfect blue in her eyes eclipsed by the black of her pupils, so close that she was blurry. Still not close enough. The surging ache in the pit of his stomach said so.

She repeated herself, smiling now. He wasn’t sure if he was actually making a sound when he told her that yes, he was alright, but it didn’t seem to matter. She’d understood. The little kiss on the corner of his mouth said so.

From his coat pocket came a chime, muffled but loud enough in this thin air to startle them and break them apart. The moment shattered. His racing heart stopped. The cold settled on his shoulders where her arms had been.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice little more than a weak croak.

She blinked out of her shock and shook her head with a little smile. “That’s alright. Might be Neal.”

It wouldn’t be anyone else. He reached into his pocket, grabbed his phone and bumbled with the lock screen for a moment until the message appeared —

And then he promptly let out a nervous laugh.

“What is it?” asked Belle, a curious grin on her face.

“He, ah… He’s asking what I’m up to.”

Brow raised, lip between his teeth, he looked up and saw Belle had much the same expression on her face. They burst into laughter.

“Well?” she giggled. “What _are_ you up to?”

Her joy was infectious, and her teasing was keeping him from thinking up a reply. He was just staring at the screen because the sight of her was too distracting, not because he was a glacially slow reader.

“Wow. Stumped, huh? Are we sure you’re awake?”

“You’re a terror and you’re no help at all,” he growled playfully, typing _‘I’m’_ to begin with. Better than nothing.

She snorted. “Alright then, I’ll help for once. Maybe just tell him you’re out on a walk? That’s what you told me we’d be doing.”

Gold smirked and shook his head — Not at the suggestion, which made complete and utter sense, but rather at the lilt in her voice that sent the hairs on the back of his neck straight up.

But no-one else in this world would even care to hear about his night. No-one else would be glad to know he wasn’t alone. Couldn’t he tell his son that much? Was he inviting a tidal wave of impossible questions if he did?

“That hard?” she asked with concern in her voice, nestling into his side, sliding her arm around his waist.

“No, only…” He followed her lead without thinking and wrapped his free arm around her shoulder. “I know he’d love to know I’m not on my own tonight.”

“Well, then, you’re out on a walk with someone,” she offered.

“As soon as I mention the fact that another living breathing human being is involved, it’ll turn into an interrogation.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and I can’t blame him. He’s never known me to - … to socialize, I suppose.”

Belle frowned in disbelief. “Never?”

“Not really. I never needed to. I had Neal.”

She looked pensive for a moment, lips in a bit of a pout, her brow furrowed. “That’s a big job for a little kid,” she said, a little pinprick of a sentence that made his eyes go wide. And when she saw that, she caught herself and hurried, “Sorry. I don’t mean -”

“No, don’t apologize.” Gold interrupted her with a reassuring smile and a shake of his head. “You’re right. That’s why I think it’d be good to…” He trailed off with a sigh.

“Out on a walk with a friend, then, maybe? And if he ends up calling you to give you the third degree, at least it’ll be really funny.”

Gold grinned. “To you.”

She grinned right back at him and lifted her chin. “To me, yes, absolutely.”

“Could have used that insight of yours much sooner,” he muttered, slowly typing in the words one-handed, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Where were you when I needed you a decade ago?”

A beat of silence, and then a deep, “D’you really wanna know?”

He looked at her in shock for a moment. When she giggled at his stupid face, he couldn’t help but laugh along, despite the horrendous dawning realization that she, too, knew that he was a fucking fossil.

But he was a fossil she’d fucking kissed, and that feeling, that knowledge crackled like fireworks in his veins, and it was louder than any spiteful voice lurking in the shadowy parts of his mind that night.

Gold took a deep breath and pressed the send button, and with a _whoosh_ , the message was on its way.

“Well done,” she said, with not an ounce of sarcasm in her voice as she rested her warm head on his shoulder.

Together, they stared out to sea. Or he did, at least. Belle’s eyes had probably shot right back up to the stars again; he didn’t have to look at her to know that. In the quiet, with the laughter gone, he remembered her lips moving against his in a whisper. He could still feel it. The goosebumps came back with the memory. It was real.

“Belle? What about you? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” She beamed up at him, perfect little laugh lines around her crystal blue eyes. “I’m happy.”

 _Happy._ An unexpected and wonderful word that sent the corners of his mouth straight up and his heart bursting into bloom in his chest.

Her warm gaze fluttered over his speechless red face for a moment. “You have the most gorgeous smile. You know that?”

Too much. Much too much, and he could have folded over and snapped in two right below the ribcage with embarrassment, but she was never going to let him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and caught him in a tight hug, laughing against his chest, making him feel delightfully weak and keeping him together all at once. Holding her felt perfect. She felt perfect.

“It really took this time, right?” she asked, sounding muffled down there with her head tucked under his chin. “You’re not one of those super convincing sleepwalkers?”

“Did it take?” He chuckled softly at her phrasing. “Now that you ask, I’m not actually sure -”

With a little hum, she grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him into silence. He wanted to laugh at how quick she was to indulge him, but then she slipped her fingers into his hair and her tongue between his lips and the sense went right out of him as surely as she’d flicked the off switch on his brain.

Every inch of his skin felt electric. She tasted so sweet. Mint and sugar. In over his head. Deep, deep, hopelessly deep into whatever this was, whatever she wanted it to be, whatever he could give her.

She pulled back. Her lips glistened. Her chest moved up and down in time with her breathing, her fingers curled in his hair, her eyes glued to his lips, pupils blown. In them, for the second time that night, he recognized himself.

Over her shoulder, dark clouds were forming in the distance, purplish in the low light.

Then came a cool touch on his hand. Hers, taking his. Blinking his way out of the trance, Gold looked down at their linked hands with a quiet sort of wonder. He’d forgotten what it felt like, any of this. He’d gone a long time without.

How could he have gone so long without?

“Let’s go somewhere warm,” she said. “Get a drink.”

“I thought you didn’t get cold.”

“I don’t. I’m not so sure about you.”

“It’s really not that bad. Please don’t make me wear the hat again.”

“Oh, you loved it.”

“Only a little bit.”

Belle, smiling the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen, gave his hand a little guiding tug to pull him away from the edge of the universe and the roiling sea down below.

Hand in hand, they left the lighthouse as alone as they’d found it to go and find a warmer place.


	26. Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long evening in a warm bar with some cold beers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm sorry for taking so long. And for not replying to your comments last chapter either. I'm so grateful for all of your kind words, and I don't care if I sound like a broken record. Thank you. You're wonderful.

Gold had never been one for mingling with the townsfolk, and they’d never been very keen on the idea themselves. Two decades of mutual mistrust and a half-earned reputation for being an unpleasant character had made sure of that. Two whole decades at least — But then Belle brushed her hand past his shoulder as he held the door for her, and he knew he would have followed her to places much worse than the Rabbit Hole that night.

Smiling like a dope, he followed her inside where the heat was just shy of oppressive, the decor mostly brown and the lights all comfortably low. Dying neon signs, old metal advertisements and black and white photography lined the wood-paneled walls. Some of the floorboards, sticky with what he hoped was only someone’s ill-fated rum and coke, sank almost imperceptibly underfoot. He felt, not heard them creak, on account of the guitar music playing from one or two blocky speakers on the walls.

It couldn’t have been the busiest night. What few customers there were did look up to shoot him those familiar stares he would have been so happy to avoid. But they felt different tonight. They seemed to bounce off, didn’t permeate, had no weight to them tonight.

As if they’d done it a dozen times before, they split up, each with their own task. Belle set out to find them the perfect table. Gold made his way over to the bar.

“Good evening. Is your wine any good at all?”

The bartender, bearded and bored, shook his head at him with a face that read like a friendly warning. A patron at the end of the bar seconded the advice with an assenting mumble.

“Right. I see. Well -”

“Beer’s fine!” Belle chimed in from somewhere behind him.

Gold looked over his shoulder to see Belle giving him a thumbs up to confirm. With an impressed _crikey, it’s hot in here_ she returned to her scouting mission.

“Your best, then,” he said, turning back to the bartender, reaching into his pocket for whichever bill he could find. Then, with his cane hooked precariously over the crook of his elbow and a pint in either hand, he went to find Belle.

She waved him over to a small table down by the window in a corner of the room where the music wasn’t quite so loud. One of its legs rested on a short stack of cardboard coasters, eliminating most of its wobble. With his hands full and then some, Gold had no choice but to watch, helpless, as Belle had to pull out her chair for herself. Of course she didn’t mind - he doubted she even realized. But that didn’t stop him from feeling as if he’d dropped the ball already.

“Warm’s a bit of an understatement, huh?” she said, letting her coat fall off her shoulders and over the back of her chair.

“Yeah, it’s ah… yeah.” It was the lacy sheerness of her blouse that had him stammering for a moment. He’d noticed she wore only a bra underneath and had to, very quickly, come to terms with the fact that he could risk no more casual glances that night.

So he stared safely down at his glass, nudging it around in a circle, leaving prints in the condensation. With a tortured smile, he hoped to God Belle would take pity on him and save them from the suffocating silence as it grew.

But the moment kept stretching, kept crawling, well on its way to critical mass. They stole glances, shared hurried little smiles, and all the while expectation grew until the awkwardness had been totally dwarfed by the unexpected pleasure of their mutual awareness of it. The balloon burst, they laughed, and the air came rushing back into the room.

“Maybe we just need to…” She trailed off and substituted a clear demonstration - taking a big swig of her pint - for words.

Nodding enthusiastically, a very grateful Gold followed her lead. The bartender’s best was just a standard pale ale, it seemed, but it would do the trick. He’d be better in a bit. He had to be. Belle thought the man she’d kissed was better than this.

“At least the beer’s nice and cold. I guess it’ll cancel itself out in a minute though. Alcohol always warms me right up. Always has. I’m not a lightweight or anything; it’s just the first thing that happens when I drink. But it probably does that for everyone though, I reckon.”

There was a nervous edge to her chipper tone that made him feel just about brave enough to try his hand at some small talk himself. “Do you miss the weather? Back - ” He cut himself off abruptly, unsure what the word _home_ meant for her.

“Of course, yeah. Just cause I don’t mind the cold…”

“No, of course.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit less rain and I _love_ the sun, but we have sunny days here too. And moving here did give me a good excuse to expand my wardrobe. Fluffy sweaters, jackets, coats —”

“Hats.”

She grinned. “Hats.”

“No trousers, though,” he remarked, with a healthy and heavy dose of instant regret.

She stared at him for a moment, then put on a confused frown. “What? You don’t like my skirts?”

“No! I do, I just -”

She giggled at the flash of alarm on his face and reached over the table to touch the back of his hand in consolation. As if she didn’t know he delighted in this. The way she liked to play.

He looked down at his beer, fighting a powerless little smile. “You know I do.”

In a sense, he was asking. Because he wondered just how much she knew. Wondered if she’d noticed the way his eyes strayed and his breath caught when she crossed her legs in her rickety camping chairs. If she could have called him out eons ago.

She answered his half-asked question with nothing but a sphinx-like smile, and conjured up a tingle at the base of his neck.

_Push through the silence or drown in it._

“I just think, for the cold, that if I had the choice between trousers or a skirt -”

“You do,” she said matter-of-factly, taking a sip that looked like it was meant as a wonderful bit of smug punctuation.

“Alright. Alright, technically I do, and I choose trousers. I can’t imagine tights are terrifically insulating.”

“Mine are!” She grinned and lifted her leg up a bit from under the table, pinching the thick fabric in demonstration. “They’re fleece-lined. Are your trousers fleece-lined?”

Gold raised his brow, speechless for a few long seconds. “Ah. Well, no. They’re not. Suppose it’s skirts from now on, then, seeing as how you just demolished my last excuse.”

With a giggle, she shook her head. “Nah. You’ve still got a really good one left.”

“Have I?”

“You look great in the suits.”

Nonsense. His pointless brain wouldn’t let him do anything but shake his head and laugh, so he reached for his beer and hoped her soft little chuckle meant she could stand his inability to be even half as charming as her just a little while longer. In the mean time, Gold didn’t mind squirming if she was having fun making him.

“You really do,” she said, softer now as if she could read his mind.

Where had his courage gone? His wit? Had he ever had either? He couldn’t remember there in the glaring spotlight of her warm smile. Had he really just wasted his last bit of initiative on some meteorological chit chat? Absolute idiot.

_Say something. Say anything._

“You look good in everything.”

Clumsy, stupid, artless, but his chest felt less constricted for having said it, and despite the fact that it was something a talking labrador might have said in terms of finesse, it was true.

And more importantly, it had made her smile.

“You haven’t seen me in everything.”

“And yet I’m absolutely convinced.”

“Alright!” She shot up in her chair and sat up straight, perking up at the perception of a challenge. “A clown costume.”

Gold shrugged. “You’d make it work.”

“A hotdog costume.”

“I’m sorry, were you trying to ramp up, there? A hotdog costume is hardly any worse than a clown costume.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed with a thoughtful little pout. “Then, a - … Hm. Do you like spiders?”

“God, no.”

“A spider onesie then!”

“Now,” he laughed, picturing her waddling about in a big soft spider suit, legs like giant pipe cleaners bouncing as she moved, knocking glasses off the table, “that would just be adorable.”

“No!” she cried, her eyes growing wide. “Like a huge, horrible one! A huntsman! Have you ever seen one up close?”

“Happy to say I haven’t.”

“Well I don’t miss those,” she said, and she made a shape with her hands the size of a small plate, and — “ _That_ big.”

“Those could just carry you off, couldn’t they?” When her brow shot up and her shoulders straightened, Gold rushed and added an apologetic, “And me. Me too.”

Her faux stern look mellowed into a smirk, and she became soft again. “Nice save.”

“Thank you,” he chuckled, feeling his cheeks grow warm as he bowed his head in contrition.

“Did you take a class for that in law school? Nice Saves 101?”

Flustered now, chest shaking with silent laughter, all he could do was nod. Belle was kind enough to give him a few seconds to recover, giggling softly at him from behind the pint glass that looked a lot bigger in her hands than it did on the table until the moment had passed.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask. I don’t know what the timing was, if you were married when you were getting your degree. Did you have to take care of Neal on your own, go to school and work at the same time? Have I got that right?”

“Just me and him for most of it, yes,” he said, deciding not to explain that cloudy stretch of time in which Milah was still there in some sense, but already gone in most others. “But I took a very long time.”

She leaned forward, furrowing her brow. “How did you manage, though?”

Gold quirked an eyebrow. Hoping to swerve around the more unpleasant subjects associated with the one just broached, he joked, “I didn’t realize I’d been coming off _that_ dense.”

Belle let out an indignant gasp and swatted the air in front of her, making him break character and laugh. “No! The logistics! I know you’re clever.”

“Are you sure?”

God, he loved her red face, her wide eyes and that grin she was so bad at hiding.

“Come on! It’s a serious question.”

“I know, I know,” he cooed. “Until he was old enough for school, I just had him in the shop with me. The back room was more of a play room for him then. I just had to skip as many classes as I possibly could - most of it was rote back then, really - and since Neal was such a blessedly easy baby, if all else failed, I just took him with me.”

“To class?”

“Mhm.”

She was quiet for a moment, blinking. “You took him to class with you?”

“When I had to. It really wasn’t a big deal. No-one minded the wee noises, and he barely ever made a fuss. Droning voices usually put him right to sleep anyway.”

“That’s amazing! They let you do that?”

“I didn’t ask for permission,” he explained, raising an eyebrow secretively. “That’s the trick, sometimes.”

She looked surprised, then laughed a thoughtful little, “Huh!”

“That’s not… legal advice, mind. Just generally.”

“Right. Got it. Just… out of curiosity; were there lots of women in those classes?”

“A fair number, I suppose,” he said, not quite following. “I didn’t attend all that often.”

“Yeah, but I bet Neal got you a lot of attention when you did.”

“Oh, I see. Well, sure. There was no sneaking him in unnoticed, and of course I’m biased, but I’ve honestly yet to see a cuter baby. Neal had his fans.”

Belle chuckled softly, her smile transforming into something of a smirk. “Yeah, that’s not exactly what I mean, though.”

“What _do_ you mean, then?”

She looked at him as if he had a bluff to call - one eyebrow raised, head tilted to the side. But Gold didn’t even have a clue, and he made a face and a questioning sound to indicate just that.

“Come on,” she said in a lower voice. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Really?”

“Really!” he laughed, thoroughly baffled now.

“Gorgeous, well-dressed single dad getting a law degree? Are you kidding me?”

“I ah, I don’t - Ah…”

“Did you have the long hair back then, too?”

“Well… Yeah, but -”

“They must have been all over you.”

She was beaming at him, her bright blue eyes fluttering all over his face as she tried to read him. She probably couldn’t understand why he’d lost the ability to speak so suddenly. He only half understood it himself.

“I ah, I really don’t think it was like that at all,” he managed after a bit of stammering and head-shaking. He remembered friendly faces hovering over his sleeping son, far too many questions and a burning urge to retreat to the safety of his house. But that was all. That was it.

“And the accent too.”

“What? No, I toned that down to avoid -”

“All the attention it was getting you?”

“Not that kind,” he mumbled feebly.

He’d gotten so flustered, his face glowing unpleasantly hot and his tongue so tied that the fight had gone right out of him. He felt a bit like a bird that had flown into a room, panicking, fluttering, making a bloody mess of things and a fool of himself.

Belle seemed to sense this and softened when she did. “Do you think you would have noticed? If someone was into you?”

“Yes,” he said quietly, not realizing he was shaking his head even as he said it. “I mean, if - … If there’d been anything to notice.”

She paused and seemed to drift off into thought for a moment - not too far off, though. She was still there with him. Watching him, smiling at him. Finally, she nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright? Really?”

She sat back in her chair with a smile and an innocuous nod, and how odd, how utterly strange that feeling of knowing he hadn’t won that argument even just a little bit, despite appearances. The victory wasn’t real, but the reprieve was, and Gold welcomed it. He had to be better. It was ridiculous, absolutely criminal that Belle was sitting there looking like she did, with a face like hers, glowing and beaming like the sun, complimenting _him._

“Belle, you ah… You do know I’m not truly this much of a bumbling fool, don’t you? You’ve seen evidence of that, I think. I don’t know if you remember that man. Wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

“Oh, I do.” She nodded, trying to look serious and failing wonderfully with every part of her face struggling against that indomitable grin of hers. “But I really like this guy too.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Really?”

She made an affirming noise as she downed the rest of her beer.

“That’s great to hear. Cause I’m not sure where the one who can actually form sentences has run off to.”

“Hey, that was a full sentence!” she praised, putting down her empty glass with a firm _thud_.

Gold put on a shocked face. “It was!”

“He’s back!” she cheered.

“And he’s going to get another round. Same thing?

“No!” Her eyes were wide as she jumped out of her chair. “My treat. Only fair.”

“No, Belle, let me -”

He made to stand up, but she put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently down again, shaking her head. With a little smirk, she told him, “I’m not asking permission,”

She walked off, leaving him well and truly disarmed, but absolutely delighted too. When he was sure she wouldn’t hear, he muttered a quiet, “Good girl.”

She came back soon enough, looking defeated, pouting at him as she put two full glasses on the table. “The bartender wouldn’t let me pay,” she complained. “He said you left him more than enough.”

“Oh. Did I?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him as if he were a puzzle for a moment, crinkling her nose. “Did you forget, or did you just not realize?”

“Ah, both, I think. I’m sorry, I could have spared you the trip.”

“That’s alright! I’ll get the next one. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, wondering just how big of a bill he’d left the barkeep in his absentmindedness and if she even stood a chance.

“So,” she said, settling back into her chair, “you haven’t been dating a lot?”

A bit startled by the question, his, “No, not really, no,” came out sounding a little rushed.

“So…” The word turned into a breathy laugh halfway through, and then she hummed a thoughtful sound and looked down at the table with a sudden coyness that made his heart glow. She was wonderful like this. All grin, pink cheeks, sparkling eyes.

“So,” he repeated.

“So you, ah…” She looked up at him, smiling knowingly. “You probably didn’t mean for this to be a date either, right?”

“Oh, I… No, to be honest. But I mean, yes, if that’s - If you’d like, retroactively, definitely if that’s what you - …”

She giggled at his stammering but her gentle nod let him know it was alright to stop tripping over himself. “I figured. It’s okay.”

“It’s just that it’s not… The concept, I mean, it’s still foreign to me after all these years. It’s a cultural thing, I think. I don’t know if that makes sense to you at all.”

“It’s not what you grew up with. You can’t feel emotionally connected to something that never meant anything real to you, so it’ll always feel kind of performative. Right?”

Equal parts puzzled and relieved, Gold nodded dumbly.

She smiled. “American dating culture’s mostly foreign to me too.”

“Is it?”

“Hey, um, have you noticed the accent?” she asked, pointing at her frowning face.

Gold deadpanned, “What accent?”

She threw back her head and let out a delicious laugh.

“Oh, _that_. Maybe a hint of one.”

“A soupçon,” she suggested, grinning. “But yeah. It’s different. And when I think about it, the first things that come to mind are all fiction. Rom-coms, those high school dramas that were always on in the afternoon, that sort of stuff. It’s probably the same for you.”

“Yeah, but I just assumed you’d been here long enough to -”

“Assimilate? You’ve been here longer and you haven’t!”

“But I was set in my ways when I got here.”

She became silent, eyebrows lifted and her lips shaped into a silent _ah!_. “And what ways were those?” she asked, the tiny smirk on her face belying her innocent tone.

“Oh God,” he groaned, bowing his head a bit and hoping his hair hid the red on his glowing cheeks. “I meant, culturally, when I was younger. Not mine specifically.”

“Mhm, sure, sure,” purred the little demon in front of him. “Go on.”

He pulled his hair back from his face with a dramatic tortured sigh that made her giggle. “Pubs. Awful house parties. Drinking, pining, planned coincidences, jealousy. Something like that. All of that. Over a very long stretch of time until it just seems daft not to be together. It’s a mess. Not very efficient at all.”

Belle shuddered at his last word and made a disgusted face. “Who wants that? I mean… Yeah, sounds messy, but _efficient?_ Yuck.”

Utterly charmed by her expressions, he began to suspect his face would hurt from smiling by the end of the evening. “I just thought you might have been young enough to still have time to settle in when you moved here.”

She sighed deeply and looked a little far off for a moment. “I don’t know. I was twelve when we moved, and I wasn’t happy about it. But there wasn’t anything connecting me to Australia anymore either, so I think I just sort of fell between the cultural cracks.”

Gold blinked. “Oh. Right, that’s a tricky age for a big change like that.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding wistfully. “Dating seemed like something fictional American teenagers did. Not anyone _real_ , you know?”

“Yeah.”

“But on the other hand, before we moved, I wasn’t old enough to drink too much and sort of accidentally stumble into a relationship like the older teens seemed to be doing. A bit like what you said, but maybe not as much booze. Not that much less, though.”

“But you did have plenty of opportunity, surely?”

“Um.” She laughed a little awkwardly. “Not really. I think you’re underestimating how badly I weirded out everyone at school.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! I just never stopped being the weird bookish foreign chick. There wasn’t that much interest.”

Gold was struck dumb.

“You don’t believe me,” she said, not sounding at all accusatory.

“I believe you, just not - …” He paused and gathered his words, the ones he should have said a while ago and a million times over. “You’re beautiful, Belle. And engaging, and smart, and funny. You’re chatty, too, even with strangers, so I just don’t understand…” He trailed off and shook his head. “I can’t believe there wasn’t much interest.”

She smiled warmly at him. “You’re a sweetheart.”

His heart fluttered. “I mean it.”

“Yeah, I was a chatty kid, before - … And moving here just made me want to crawl even further into my shell at first. I swear, there was never any real opportunity when I was younger. But I did give it a try, later.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You wanna hear my dating disaster story?”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s a bit of a big one,” she warned, and there was a bit of nervous laughter to her tone that made him wonder if she really did want this story of hers told. “I mean, it’s going to sound like a big deal. It’s not, not really, not anymore, but it’s… yeah.”

“I’m all ears.” Very nervous ears.

She breathed in deep, slapped her palms on the table and sat back in her chair. “Alright. This guy came into the flower shop one day. Four years ago, I think. And he comes up to the counter and says he saw me putting out the flowers that morning, and he wants to know if I wanna go get coffee with him some time.”

She paused for a big gulp of her beer.

“Which, y’know, like I said, my first thought was like, ‘Oh, have I ended up in a movie or something?’ But in the moment, I thought it was kind of exciting. Like… an adventure, maybe. Like maybe it could be this magical fairy tale whirlwind romance at best, and a super awkward coffee date at worst. Right?”

“Right,” he said, face folded in a frown of concentration, thinking with a chill in his chest that an awkward coffee was hardly the worst thing that could have happened there.

She read his thoughts somehow and gave a wry smile. “I know. But I did tell my dad exactly what I’d be doing, where and with whom. Should have kept him out of it, in hindsight, but -”, and here she waved her hands around as if to shoo away the subject, “- I’ll get to that part later. Anyway, he seemed nice, and I got myself all excited, so I said yes.”

He kept his smile on, but he felt it fade, worried for her. Clearly she was fine now, but that didn’t seem to make him feel much better.

“The first date went really well, so I decided to keep seeing him. And things were alright for a while! It’s just that it kept being just that. It was just alright, and then it wasn’t even that anymore. I should have stopped seeing him a lot sooner than I did, and it’s totally on me that I didn’t. I can’t even make excuses, to be honest. I shouldn’t have let it drag on like that. But I did, and then, three months in…”

A dramatic pause, another big sip and a deep breath.

“Belle, please,” he chuckled nervously, “you’re killing me.”

But she took her sweet time, with a sweet smile and a sweet little attempt at a pokerface. She knew she had him hook, line and sinker. He just wasn’t so sure if she realized she had him in more ways than just the one.

Finally, the thickening of the plot: “Has anyone ever proposed to you in public before?”

“No.” It was a no of disbelief. Between a gasp and a groan, really. “Seriously?”

“Seriously!” she said, exploding into wide-eyed animation, casting mystery and suspense aside. “Down on one knee in an Italian restaurant on a Friday night after three months! Three _okay_ months. No pregnancy scare or anything. And he’d planned this! It wasn’t a spur of the moment thing! You wanna know what’s worse?”

He mumbled a weak, “I really don’t know if I do.”

“Well, you’re gonna.” She leaned in a little closer. “He asked my dad for my hand in marriage first. And you wanna know what’s heaps worse than that?”

“I’m going to have a heart attack.”

“My dad gave him his blessing.”

“Why the fu- Why on earth would he do that?”

“He means well,” she mumbled with a bit of an eye-roll, “but he has a patronizing streak that drives me up the wall. I guess he just thought it’d put me on the fast track to success in life, or something? And he really liked him. They got on really well.”

“Then he should have married the man,” Gold muttered, feeling a spark of pride when Belle sputtered a little laugh.

“That’s what I told him! But my dad’s not a bad guy, really, I swear. He just sees things differently, and he’s so stubborn sometimes. He really liked the thought of me marrying someone with a great career and a clear plan in life, cause I never had either.”

Gold began to feel a terrible tightness in his stomach.

“So if I look at it from my dad’s perspective, here’s this guy with a good job, good prospects, from a family with connections - whatever that means. And he wants to marry and take care of my daughter, despite, y’know… all of it.”

Gold furrowed his brow. “Despite all of what?”

“You know!” she said, making some vague gesture that explained nothing at all. Gold could see that she wasn’t being coy; she had no reason to be. She was just assuming.

“I really don’t know, Belle,” he told her.

She took a deep breath and shrugged. “Despite the aliens, the screaming nightmares, the book hoarding, the _awful_ sleeping habits and the dead end jobs and how annoying I can get sometimes when I get super excited about something. Just… the crazy. You know.”

Gold couldn’t speak. He could only shake his head, slowly, as if he’d fallen into a vat of something thick and impossible and utterly wrong. She’d just torn herself down smiling, as if it was nothing. As if it was normal, self-evident. And the only tell, the one that broke his heart, was that she’d gotten a fraction smaller in her chair. Her shoulders hunched forward as if she wanted to curl into herself.

 _Despite?_ He didn’t know what to do with himself. His body had become home to both a simmering rage the rightful objects of which were nowhere near to suffer it, and a love so bright with a voice so loud that it drowned out every other thought save one — _Because._

“It’s alright,” she said, reading his helplessness with ease. “I like myself.”

And, like a freshly watered flower, she righted herself again. Taller. Brighter. The woman with the tear-streaked face and the sprained angle gathering shards of a broken lantern on the cold hard ground one night, the woman who embraced him so warmly the morning after.

The words welled up from deep inside of him, a little hoarse for some reason, but strong. Meaningful. True. “Good. Cause you’re magnificent.”

“You’re not too shabby yourself.”

Her smile made him want to reach across the table and kiss her hand. The moment passed too quickly, though, and the opportunity was lost. They let the silence reign for a short spell, nursing their drinks as the story, now told, settled into the open.

“This is just a bit of car crash curiosity, forgive me. But did you have to turn him down in public?”

Belle made a pained face and nodded weakly. “I pulled him aside as best as I could and let him down gently, but of course people knew what was going on. I wasn’t going to say yes just for show and turn him down later.” She sounded a little unsure and ashamed, like she was defending herself from an accusation of cruelty no-one in their right mind would dare to make.

“You did the best you could. There’s no private way to turn down a public marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, I suppose there isn’t, is there? And he didn’t help things by freaking out, anyway.”

His blood turned to ice in his veins. Through clenched teeth, he asked, “Did he?”

“And it was a long freak-out,” she groaned, deflating in her chair. “I mean, it was explosive in the restaurant, sure, but he just… derailed after that. He told everyone in town that he turned me down, and that I was crazy, like they needed any help thinking that. He moved away two weeks later, thankfully.”

There was a little ball of rage in his chest now, rising up to the back of his throat where he swallowed it back down again. “I’m sorry. That’s unacceptable. No matter how heartbroken -”

Belle interrupted him with a dark laugh. “Oh, he didn’t care like _that_.”

Gold stared at her in puzzlement. “But… he proposed to you.”

“Yeah, but any girl would have done. I found out later he just wanted to get married, have kids, climb the corporate ladder as a family man or whatever. And he did get married, like, six months later! I guess that’s fine. I’m sure it could work for the right people. But I didn’t know that’s what we were doing, you know? I didn’t sign up for that. I don’t know why I didn’t see it right away.”

Gold couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe anyone could get close to Belle French and remain unaffected. To touch her, to make her smile, to be the one she looked at with darkened eyes and her lip between her teeth and manage to live through the heartbreak when it was over.

He cleared his throat with a little cough and tried to sound calm and casual. “He’s moved away, you said?”

She huffed a little laugh and smiled at him with her head cocked adorably to the side. “Yeah. Canada. Why? Were you gonna have a word?”

_One way of putting it._

“No, no, course not” he said, and he forced the little ball of rage back down.

“Good. Cause that’d be silly.”

“Very silly.”

“It doesn’t upset me anymore, anyway. The fact that I didn’t get a bad feeling about him right away really messed me up for a while, is all.”

She became quiet, staring into the pale gold of her beer, twisting the glass slowly around on the wooden table, much like he himself had before. “I didn’t know people like that existed. I understand having goals in life, but the way he did what he did, I just - … Why would you do that? Why would you think love is a means to an end?”

He wasn’t sure if he was following her, so his nodding ended up looking a little bit like he was shaking his head too, and when he tried to agree, his mouth just opened and closed silently for a second, making him look quite dumb in all likelihood.

“You start here,” she marked a starting point on the wooden tabletop with one finger, “and you wanna end up there —” and the side of her right hand on the edge of the table marked the end. “And a lot of people would go like this —” Gold followed her blue nail polish in a straight line all the way across the table. “— and get there as quickly as possible. No matter what. Yeah?”

“Like a highway.”

“Like a highway,” she said, nodding seriously. “And highways are just asphalt and concrete, and the same lights, and the same paint on the road for miles and miles, and millions of other cars and _nothing_ else. But there’s so many country roads and winding little forest paths, and mountains to climb, and caves to explore, rivers and beaches and oceans and islands, and you’re not gonna see any of that if you have blinders on. Is there anything better than discovering things with someone you care about?”

There was a fire in her eyes, a fervor in her voice. She stared at him imploringly, desperate to be understood, leaning close. Bewitched, almost, he had to tear his eyes away to watch her finger draw a slow, meandering path on the table that was made up of curves and loops and swirls.

“Or alone. It doesn’t matter. If there’s really somewhere you need to get to, you can still take the pretty paths. Or maybe you’ll find a better destination along the way. And if it turns out where you wanted to go isn’t where you want to be after all, then, at least the trip there was beautiful. You’ll never lose that. And I don’t mean to make it sound easy, cause it’s not. It’s scary sometimes, and it’s not going to be beautiful all the way.”

There came no _but_ after that, and somehow that struck him hard. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach. And he didn’t know why.

“I like that,” he said, because despite that strange pang in his gut, he knew that to be true.

“Yeah?” Her big eyes were glinting wet in the low lights as they danced over his face, hopeful.

“I have to think about it a little more,” he admitted, “but I do.”

Her face bloomed into a grin both proud and relieved.

“Coffee?” she asked, reaching for her wallet in her coat pocket again.

“Coffee,” he agreed.

The beer had reddened his face and soothed his nerves and he couldn’t give a toss about the fact that he was absolutely unable to stop smiling anymore. His head was full of her, full of warmth, blue nail polish, pretty paths, resilient flowers, and maybe a spider or two. So he was surprised, and couldn’t help but choke out a laugh when from the direction of the bar came a familiar Australian accent with some disbelief and disappointment, “He left you a _fifty?_ ”

Out of the Rabbit Hole, into the chilly night. A shock, but a welcome one, and Gold lifted his chin and turned his hot face to the breeze for just a moment. A big yawn overtook him, but he managed to disguise it as a sigh fairly well, he felt.

“Are you gonna walk me home like a gentleman?” asked Belle, snaking her arm through his.

Gold looked down at her wonderfully red face and tried to look unaffected. “Well, I suppose it’s not out of my way.”

She snorted, poked him playfully in the ribs and with a gentle tug of the arm, set them in motion. Their footsteps and the tap of his cane sounded loud on the empty streets, bouncing off sleeping buildings and through the cold air.

“The moon’s really pretty tonight,” she said, and Gold followed her gaze up to the thin sliver of silver up above. “I feel like the more’s obscured, the more vivid the part you _can_ see. What do you think?”

Gold looked from the moon, down to her face, then back up to the sky with its sparse clouds and its sharp little stars sparkling in the space in between, and thought of all the hours Belle had spent under their light. “I think you chose a pretty path.”

When he looked back down, he didn’t find her staring at the stars, like she ought to have been. She was smiling at him, with her beautiful sleepy eyes.

“I like where it’s leading me.”

His mouth felt dry. His heart soared. “And where’s that?”

“To me cooking you dinner some time?”

“Yes, I’d -”

A chime in his pocket. His phone, cold to the touch, bright in the darkness.

_With Belle? Have fun. Night night_

“Is that that third degree you were expecting?”

“Not… quite. He, ah… He figured it was you.”

“Clever guy, huh?”

He was a little bewildered, but there was still no fighting the smile on his face with Belle so close, so content, so warm. He dropped his phone back in his pocket and offered his arm to her again. She took it, pulled herself close, fit herself perfectly against his side.

“Don’t know where he gets it from.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and gave his arm a little squeeze. “I do.”


	27. (Porch Light)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in a car with a stranger in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another small interlude-ish thing. Working hard on the next chapter. Thank you for all your lovely words and your patience. <3

When the car came to a squeaky stop in front of her house, she felt a little bit sick to her stomach. They’d stopped, but everything dangling from the rear view mirror swayed on, to and fro, to and fro, beads and charms and keyrings in one big tangled mess of curiosities.

“Is this it?”

“Yeah.”

The porch light glowed softly in the night, but the house looked dead asleep all the same. Belle was tired and her eyes were heavy, but she didn’t want to go inside just yet. She wanted to stay in this bubble of suffocating vanilla air freshener smell for as long as the stranger would let her. 

Belle liked looking at her. She liked the big nest of blond hair on top of her head, and the shimmery green fabric that held it there, and the glitter on her eyelids, and all of the pretty things she had dangling from her ears and her neck and her wrists that jingled like little bells when she moved.

“You were a real long way from home, huh?”

“You sound like you’re from New Zealand.”

“Yeah, alright, good point,” she laughed. “But how old are you?”

“Almost ten.”

“Well, I’m almost twenty, and I’ve got a car. You heading straight into town in the middle of the night on your little bike at age _almost-ten_ ’s a lot bigger of a deal.”

Belle looked down at her skinned knee. The bleeding had stopped, but the dull throbbing ache felt like it would stay a good while longer.

“Are you gonna come in and tell my dad?”

“No. Are _you_ gonna tell him?”

Belle blinked, surprised that it was just a question. Not a direction, not even a suggestion. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Is he mean to you? Were you running away?” Her eyes flashed with something fierce. “I know that’s not what you said, but maybe you were out there killing two birds with one stone. I won’t make you go inside if you don’t want to.”

“He’s not like that. He’s not a bad dad.”

“Sure? You can tell me.”

“I’m sure. I promise.”

“Promises are serious things.”

“I know.”

The girl’s dark blue eyes were very intense for a moment, staring at her in silence, eyebrows close together, lips closed tight.

“Alright,” she said after a while. “I believe you. I’ll get your bike out the back.”

The girl made a move to open the door, but changed her mind before she got a hold of the handle.

“Wait,” she said, looking very serious now. “I hate to do this, but I have to say a few grown-up things first. Like, you know you’re not supposed to get in a stranger’s car, right?”

Belle raised her brow, too tired to tell her that it seemed to have worked out for her, actually.

“ _I know_ , obviously I’m cool, but you seriously, seriously lucked out. There’s all kinds of people out there. Some psycho could have snatched you right off the street and no-one would have ever heard from you again.”

A brick to her stomach. A wave of nausea rose up and overcame her, and she was too late to hide it, and now the girl had that look on her face that Belle had grown to hate so much over the past few dreadful weeks. Pity and panic, all at once.

“Hey, I didn’t mean - … I’m not saying your mum -”

“Yeah, I know,” she cut in, hating how soft and somber the girl’s voice had gotten. Like she was porcelain, and words were hammers. “It’s fine.”

Two weeks and four days of making adults feel better about her pain. She was so tired of it. Nothing had ever made her feel so lonely as that.

“No, it’s not fine. It sucks. I’m sorry.”

Forcing a smile - or trying to - Belle said the thing that always made the adults look a lot less tortured if she said it: “I know she’ll be back.”

But her face didn’t change. She didn’t look relieved. It didn’t work on this one, and not like it didn’t work on dad. With him, it was just another thing that couldn’t reach him. Like nothing could touch him. Like he was a ghost. Or that she looked like one to him.

This was different. Better. This made her feel a little lighter, and she almost didn’t recognize the feeling, so used to the opposite.

“Couple more grown-up things, and then I’m done being boring, I swear. I don’t know your mum, but I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want you falling off your bike in the shady part of town at two in the morning on a Saturday cause you’re looking for her.”

_What if she needs me to?_

“I know. I won’t do it again.”

“And school’s still out, right? So, until she gets back, you should keep busy. Just find something cool to learn about. Learn everything about it. Make it your thing.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know! Go to the library, find the book with the prettiest cover, get lost in it.”

“The prettiest?”

She shrugged. “Why not?”

Belle couldn’t answer that. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“One more thing. Belle, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Belle. Smart-arse, pretty Belle. I know who you are now, and I’d hate to hear anything happened to you. You’d hate to hear anything happened to me, right?”

Belle nodded. She liked her. Mum would like her, too.

“So you have to be more careful from now on. Promise me that — but only if you mean it.”

“I promise. I’ll be more careful.”

“Good. And I said ‘careful’, not boring. Remember that.”

Belle felt her mouth crack into a small smile, a real one, for the first time in a long while. “I’ll remember.”

“Brilliant!” she cheered, giving her a pat on her shoulder and a big grin. “You got a key? I can break in for you if you want, get you in real quiet.”

Belle thought that that was the coolest thing anyone had ever said to her. She was very nearly tempted to lie just to see her do it.

“Thanks, but I’ve got a key.”

She took it out of the pocket of her overall dress and held it up for her to see. One solitary key, shiny and new for emergencies, never used.

The girl gave her a weird look. “You need a keyring,” she decided, and she reached for the mass of colorful things dangling from the rear view mirror. “You like dogs?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“I’ve got a duck, too,” she mumbled, frowning in concentration as she made her way through all the beads and bits and pieces and things. “The skull’s cool. Too morbid, though. Oh, I’ve got a fairy, too! Wait, no, I’m keeping that one.”

When she was through mumbling to herself, she turned back to Belle with a smile and asked, “Dog or duck?”

Belle, a bit too distracted by all of the strange shapes and colors emerging from the ball of _stuff_ , took a while to answer. But the girl was very patient with her.

“Dog. I think. If that’s okay.”

“Totally.”

Somehow, she managed to extract it from everything else without having to take down a single other thing. Belle was impressed, and she felt warm inside when the girl finally pressed a little plastic dalmatian into her palm and closed her fingers around it. She felt important. She felt real.

“I found this on Fraser Island last month,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, staring intently at her as if she had just handed her a treasure. “Found it buried in the sand on the beach; there’s no knowing how long it’s been lost for. But it’s not lost anymore. It’s yours now. Take good care of it.”

“I will,” she promised. Belle felt a little nervous about asking, but she had to. “Do I have to go in right now?”

“Course not!” she replied without any sort of delay, as if it was the silliest thing she could have asked. Then she reached for the radio, pressed a button and turned a dial and filled the car with pop music. Loud enough to sound good, but not loud enough that it might drift up to the guest bedroom, where her dad had been sleeping the past few days. Smaller room. Smaller bed.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“That’s alright. You’re good company. You can change the station or turn it off if you like.”

“No, it’s fine. I like it. Mum always had the radio on.”

Belle looked up and out of the car, towards the weak glow of the porch light, and felt a little sick again.

“Has. She always…”

Why the hand on her shoulder was the thing that made the tears well up was something she knew she’d never really understand.

“It’s alright. Look in the glove box.”

Biting her tongue to hold back the tears, she opened the glove box expecting to find tissues. It was chock-full of candy bars.

“And no taking lollies from strangers either,” said the girl, sounding completely serious. “Starting tomorrow. Promise.”

Shoving her hand into the glove box for a Cherry Ripe, Belle sniffled a little laugh even as the tears began to stream down her cheeks.

“Promise.”


End file.
